The Winchester Mansion
by laughandlove
Summary: Sam and Dean visit the Winchester Mansion: a mysterious, 160-room mansion constructed by a woman who insisted that the spirits told her to do it over a century ago. But things get complicated when Sam sees himself die. True story, rating for language.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Supernatural fanfic...if you read my profile, it's the story I was thinking about posting about the Winchester Mansion, also known as the Winchester Mystery House. It is based on a true story (believe me, I did research), and every excerpt read by either Sam or Dean from the internet is real. I'm not sure yet how many chapters this is going to turn out to be, but it will probably end up being fairly long – at least longer than anything I've written so far. This chapter is short, but it's just the introduction – more will come, I promise! If I get reviews, I just might add chapters (hint-hint!)! Please read and tell me what you think.**

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"Dude, that's just disgusting."

'What?" retorted Dean. "This happens to be some high-quality beef."

"High-quality beef? Have you even read the ingredients?"

"What kind of idiot actually reads the freakin' ingredients, Sam? Was that some hobby you and your super-brainy vegetarian college friends had?"

"Yeah, Dean, it was. We read the ingredients of everything we had in the dorm right before we burst into song about the joys of college life. What do you think?" replied Sam angrily.

Dean waved an imaginary flag into the air, as if calling for a truce. "Jeez, Sammy, lighten up a bit. Can't a man eat a Slim Jim in peace? Why must I be persecuted by my younger, less-hot brother for my taste in snack food?"

"Give me that," said Sam, attempting to grab the half-eaten stick of meat from his brother's hand.

"Nah, Sammy, don't think so!" Dean waved his hand wildly in the air, taunting his younger sibling. "Ah, too slow...you lose, Karate Kid. Only when you grab the Slim-Jim from my hand have you mastered the art of meat-snatching."

"Come on, Dean!" sighed the defeated Sam. "at least LOOK at the ingredients so you know what you're putting in your body-"

"-you mean my HOT body, right?" interjected Dean, patting his abs. "I've lived twenty-seven years without reading the ingredients on anything, and still managed to keep a six-pack. Now that, my friend, is an accomplishment I'm proud of."

"Yeah, whatever Dean. Just-"

"I know, Sam. Fine. I'll look at them just to shut you up." Dean peeled off the red and yellow wrapper from his snack, squinting his eyes in order to read the fine black print at the bottom. Sam could tell it was taking a lot of self-control for his brother not to gag at what he read – he was determined to prove to Sam that his choice of food was worthy of consumption.

"Looks fine to me."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise.

"Uh, Dean? I happen to know for a fact that one of the ingredients is 'mechanically separated chicken parts.' Don't tell me you've read that and still think that the Slim Jim qualifies as a quality snack."

"What, and that funky soy-protein organic granola bar that you're eating does? What kind of crap is that?"

"Crap that's gonna let me live longer than you, Dean. If some demon doesn't kill you, you'll die of clogged arteries."

"Who cares about clogged arteries, man? You only live once." With that, Dean stuffed the remainder of the Slim Jim into his mouth, chewing noisily.

"Fine, I give up," sighed Sam.

"Good," said Dean. "It's about time you respected your elders."

"I'm not even going to reply to that, Dean. We're wasting too much time as it is. Now what about this next gig?"

"What about it?" answered Dean.

"What do you mean, 'what about it?' Haven't you done any more research?"

"I TOLD you, man, my laptop freaked out on me. I still need to fix it. Anyway, since when is the research my responsibility? That's always been your job."

"It's your responsibility since you bet me ten bucks you could dig up better info than me, remember? Apparently you weren't satisfied with...uh, what were your words again? Oh yeah-'how goddamned slow' I did the research on that water demon case."

"Well yeah, dude. A monkey could've solved that case faster than you."

"OK, then, that's why it's your turn now. You did bet me, remember?"

"You took me seriously? I was drunk, man. You can't listen to me when I'm drunk."

"Okay, noted. But I didn't know that then. A bet is a bet."

"God, Sammy! Let it rest already!"

"No." replied Sam simply.

"What, just 'no'? Ooooh, now I've changed my mind, Sam. With logic like that, how couldn't I?"

Sam just smiled.

"What, Sammy? You're kinda creepin' me out with that freaky smirk of yours."

"Nothing, Dean. It's just that if you don't agree to do the research, I'm gonna walk back into that gas station and tell them that I forgot to buy laxatives for my brother."

Dean looked down, recognizing his defeat. "Jerk," he muttered.

"Bitch."

Dean turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine of his beloved black Chevy Impala. He pulled out of the deserted gas station and onto the road, heading towards what would be the newest place of residence for the Winchester brothers: Sid's Motel. It was a trashy, run-down building, but it would do. They couldn't afford any of the more expensive hotel rooms of San Jose, California, anyway-the location of their newest mystery: The Winchester Mansion.

**TBC**

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**Review, please! I'm begging you here!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, in this chapter the actual story behind the Winchester Mansion is introduced – I'm aware that nothing was mentioned throughout the entire first part, but that was just more of an introduction. This is where the story begins! (Note: though this is completely based on a true story, any additional details regarding Sam and Dean or the employees in the Mystery House are made up by me...I hope that's not a crime. Don't sue me!**

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"Why do we have to be here, Sammy?" moaned Dean.

"Are you serious, man? We're HERE to figure out why I've been having those weird dreams about the Winchester Mansion, dude. Something strange is going on there...I just feel like something bad is going to happen, and soon."

"Are you a complete moron, Sammy? I didn't mean why are we here, I MEANT," emphasized the elder brother, "why are we HERE?" he gestured emphatically to the features of the motel room in which they were currently situated. "This place is a freakin' dump. It looks like that torture chamber we saw in Salem that time."

Just as Dean finished talking, a trickle of liquid from the ceiling above the bed dripped onto his face. Dean let out a yell of surprise and sat bolt upright, grimacing.

"Relax, dude!" laughed Sam, clearly amused. "It's just water."

"_That_," answered Dean, spitting onto the carpet, "was definitely NOT water. I tasted it. It was more like cat urine."

"And have you tasted cat urine?" challenged Sam.

"Shut up, Sammy. Say any more and I'll murder you in your sleep."

"Go ahead, Dean, but you know I'll haunt your ass."

"Whatever, man."

However fond Dean Winchester was of complaining, it couldn't be denied, even by Sam, that the room was awful. The wooden bed frames were decomposing, the stained and soiled mattresses couldn't have been more than six inches thick, the carpeting was covered with mysterious, dark splotches, and the room smelled strongly of onions. Upon further investigation, the two brothers also discovered that the TV only got two clear channels, the toilet barely flushed, and moths took residence in the ancient curtains.

Sam was jolted from a slight daze by another yelp from his older sibling.

"Aww, man! That's just not right! I am SO sleeping on the floor tonight." Dean's face was contorted into a look of revulsion as he gazed at his new discovery, found beneath the bed sheets.

"What is it now, Dean?" sighed Sam. "A cockroach? I've told you before, dude, they won't hurt you."

"Shut up, Sam! It's not a cockroach."

"Then what is it?"

"It's a condom."

"Oh, gross!"

"Yeah, I know, man. I can't sleep here now, because I'll imagine a fugly couple getting it on."

"That's what you're worried about, Dean? What about the disgusting germs all over that thing?"

"Dude, that vision is worse. There are some things you just don't want to see."

"Fine," answered Sam. Sleep on the floor – but it's probably just as bad."

"I don't care," replied Dean, throwing his pillow indignantly on the ground and laying on top of it. "At least I don't know about it."

"Either stop complaining now or get us another room."

"Sammy, you know we can't afford anything else here! California is freakin' expensive!"

"I know, Dean. I just wanted to hear you say it. We can't leave, so we just have to deal, ok? Just deal with it."

"Jeez, man, don't jump all over me. You gotta admit, this place sucks ass."

"I know...I guess I'm just a little stressed. This whole deal with the mansion has me freaked out...I mean, I keep seeing the place in my dreams, and that poor guy dying over and over again. But what's the point, you know? We came all the way here and it was too late. He was already dead. What am I supposed to do about it? We should leave, I guess, but I just have this feeling that we need to check it out."

"Sammy, he fell out of a window. There are no signs of that being supernatural at all. From what we've heard, nothing else has ever happened at this mansion. There's been repots of hauntings, but they're all benign. no freaky accidents, no mysterious deaths...no NOTHING. The place has daily visitors, Sam, and the worst they've reported is seeing an apparition. Face it – that Tommy guy probably committed suicide."

"I know all that, man. I guess it makes sense – but I SAW it happen. The man looked terrified, Dean. Something was there with him that made him jump. There has to be a reason I'm having these visions. Whenever it's happened before, I've always had some connection to the victim, or...THE HOUSE! Dean, don't you think it's weird that the house happens to be named 'Winchester?' Maybe that's my...our...connection to the place!"

"I hate to break it to you, Sammy, but 'Winchester' isn't exactly an uncommon name. There must be a million Winchester mansions in the world."

"Yeah, but this one is different. I don't know much about it, but I do know that Mrs. Winchester only built the mansion because 'the spirits told her to do it.' That's definitely up our alley. Maybe she's, like, our great great aunt or something."

"That's a freakishly huge jump you just made there, little bro. I think we still need to find out."

"WE?" retorted Sam. "You mean YOU, remember?"

"But my laptop-"

"Your laptop is fine, dude. I just re-charged the battery."

Dean tried and failed to make himself look both surprised and grateful at this information.

"Thanks, man," he replied quietly, looking at the floor.

Sam smirked at him. "You know, for some reason I'm getting the strange feeling that you knew what was wrong the entire time. Come on, Dean-your computer 'freaked out on you?' A dead battery doesn't exactly qualify as 'freaking out.'"

"I swear, man-" began Dean. He stopped abruptly at the look on Sam's face. There was no use trying to argue.

Sam laughed. "You've got some serous research to do tonight, Dean."

"I warned you, Sam," said Dean, "and you chose to continue berating me. Yeah, I'm definitely gonna smother you in your sleep."

"'Berating'?" quoted Sam. "Nice vocab, bro."

"Shut up," replied Dean, walking across the room to the small table where the computer sat.

Sam threw a pillow and blanket on the floor (apparently taking Dean's advice regarding the wisdom of sleeping on the bed), and lounged back, turning on the blurry television screen.

"Ahh...this is nice, huh?" he gave Dean a wink across the room, receiving a deadly glare from his brother. "Yeah, I could get used to this. Hey, it looks like the only channel we get is CMT. Is country music all right with you, Dean?"

Dean said nothing, but merely continued his research. He was going to kill Sam.

**TBC**

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**Again, I'll update soon – if you review, that is!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next chapter, guys! Please, please read and review! It's short, but a lot happens. Oh, and by the way...I know I promised in the last chapter that I would include some back story about the Winchester Mansion,. but I just realized that I barely scratched the surface of the mystery. I have to stop writing so much brotherly banter – it really delays the story, but I can't seem to resist some of that quality humor! I swear that the mystery will soon deepen.**

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Dean's eyes burned as he stared at the computer screen. In truth, his nostrils burned as well, but it was no doubt attributed to the acrid smell of the motel room. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning hugely. Though he would never admit it to Sam, he was actually quite enjoying looking into the history of the Winchester Mystery House. It wasn't exactly difficult research, (as Dean had simply gone to 'Google' and typed in 'the Winchester Mansion'), and he found himself becoming entranced by the amazing history of the old building. He had printed out a number of pages on the topic that he was planning on showing Sam in the morning.

Dean glanced over at his younger brother, unable to resist a laugh. Sammy was sprawled on the ground, his long limbs spread in entirely different directions. He was snoring loudly. Taking solace in the fact that his brother was okay, Dean turned back to his research. There were only a few rare nights wherein Dean actually observed Sam sleeping soundly since he began having nightmares. He never really expressed to his brother the worry the newfound headaches and visions had caused him to feel-he always tried to keep a hard exterior. The truth was, however, that his biggest fear was something happening to his younger sibling. He sighed, re-reading through some of the excerpts he had already printed out.

_The Winchester Mystery House is a unique mansion located at 525 South Winchester Boulevard in San Jose, California. Its construction began in 1884, and was financed and built by Sarah L. Winchester, the widow of gun magnate William Wirt Winchester. Construction continued 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, until her death 38 years later in 1922. The price tag for such constant building has been estimated at about $5.5 million._

Dean had considered that strange upon first reading it, but certainly not supernatural. It just meant, in his opinion, that some crazy old widow worked a huge number of construction workers to death for no apparent reason on some gigantic house. His opinion didn't change until he read a little more into the mystery.

_With the death of her husband in 1881, Sarah inherited over $20 million. She also received 48.9 percent of the Winchester Repeating Arms Company, giving her an income of roughly $1,000 per day, none of which was taxable until 1913. Sarah had lost her husband in 1881 and had also lost her only child, a daughter who died in infancy 15 years earlier. Deeply grieved and seeking solace, she consulted a spiritualist on the advice of a friend, who had become known colloquially as the "Boston Medium." According to legend of the medium, among other things, told her that there was a curse upon the Winchester family because the guns they made had taken so many lives. She told Sarah, "Thousands of persons have died because of it and their spirits are now seeking vengeance." Although this is disputed, many believe that the Boston Medium told her she needed to travel west, leaving her home in New Haven. The medium did tell her to leave, but it is unknown if he or she told her for certain that she had to go west. Regardless, there she would start a new life, "and build a home for yourself and for the spirits who have fallen from this terrible weapon, too. You can never stop building this house. If you continue building, you will live. Stop and you will die."_

_This is definitely freaky_, thought Dean. The woman built a house for ghosts to live in on the advice of some crazy medium? _That's up our alley_.

_The direction from the medium is the reason she built her house in such a haphazard fashion. Some believe it was to distract the spirits who she believed were hunting her. She was reported to have slept in a different room every night for some time._

Dean wondered after reading this particular bit why the house was described as "haphazard." What was haphazard about an obviously pre-conceived building plan? He got his answer as her read on.

_Every night, Sarah would go to her Seance Room to receive messages from the spirits telling her what she should build. The orders from the spirits resulted in many strange constructions, such as doors that open into walls, stairs that go nowhere, a cupboard that has only a half-inch of storage space, and tiny doorways and hallways just big enough for Sarah (who was 4'10" and of slight build) to fit through. Some other interesting features of the house include its ten thousand windows (including some priceless Tiffany stained glass), forty-seven fireplaces, and a beautiful garden._

The eldest brother took in this information with confusion. If spirits were telling Sarah what to build, why in hell would they make such strange requests? Maybe this woman was just insane. Furrowing his brow, he read on.

_Sarah had a fascination with the number thirteen. Many features in the house were built in sets of thirteen or multiples of thirteen. For instance, in the thirteenth bathroom (the only one with a shower), there are thirteen windows. One of the sinks has thirteen drainage holes. There are fifty-two skylights, and the grand staircase has thirteen steps. Thirteen palms line the driveway. As a final gesture, Sarah's will was divided into thirteen parts and signed thirteen times. Two other numbers favored by Sarah were seven and eleven. There is one stairway in the house which has seven steps down and then eleven steps up. Another, called the switchback staircase, turns seven times and has forty-four steps, but only goes up nine feet! Some speculate that stairs were built so low because Sarah had arthritis; others think she built them that way to confuse and/or slow down the spirits._

Dean let out a low whistle. This place was creepier than he thought. Maybe Sam's visions meant something after all. Continuing on, he found another piece of information that made his blood run cold.

The house had originally had seven stories. It now had four. The reason? There had been an earthquake-in 1906. Exactly, thought Dean, one-hundred years ago. What more of a perfect reason could there be for the woman to get revenge? She was obsessed with the number seven, which was also widely recognized as a significantly magical number, and some force she couldn't control destroyed her plan for the mansion. This Tommy guy, or whatever his name was, who had fallen out of the window, had been working on minor construction details.

Dean sat up with a jolt, now recognizing what had surely happened. The paper had mentioned that Tommy was an experienced carpenter – the trade having been passed down through generations. His great-grandfather must have been one of the original constructors! Dean smiled to himself. He had solved the mystery, and hadn't needed any of Sam's help. Sarah Winchester must still have a grudge against her workers for never replacing the three fallen levels, and maybe, thought Dean, even blamed them for her death. After all, she was under the impression that she would only die when construction ceased or was done improperly. Maybe she believed the spirits weren't satisfied! Nothing had happened to anyone before, but the hundredth-year anniversary since the earthquake had just passed. Spirits frequently began activity on specific days or anniversaries! Sure, the house was said to be haunted by the ghosts of those who died as the victims of a gunshot from a Winchester Rifle and the construction workers who worked on the house, and maybe even Sarah herself, but nothing had happened to the visitors because they weren't connected to the case. Tommy was, and Sarah had wanted revenge. That was it!

Unable to contain his excitement, Dean ran over to where Sam lay and shook him awake.

"I solved it, Sam! Give me that ten bucks of yours, you idiot."

"Wha...Dean, it's only, like, two in the morning! Leave me alone. Just tell me in the morning, okay?"

"You mean, in the morning on the way to the mansion, right? 'Cause I'm gonna have to tell you in the car."

"Why do we have to leave in the morning? I thought we were going do some more research tomorrow, and then head over to investigate later. You're the one who told me, Dean, that nothing there was supernatural except for maybe a few friendly ghosts."

"Dude, there's more than Casper in that mansion."

"Casper? Since when have you seen Casper?"

"I didn't enjoy it, dude, I saw like, one part and kept watching for Christina Ricci."

"She was only like thirteen in that movie, man. Now that's just creepy."

"Whatever! Why are we even talking about this? Sammy, Tommy didn't commit suicide. Sarah Winchester killed him."

"Sarah Winchester? You mean that lonely, four-foot widow without a friend in the world murdered some random construction worker decades after she died?"

"That's exactly what I mean, man."

"Fine...just," yawned Sam, "tell me the rest in the morning, I don't have the energy right now." With that, he rolled over and promptly went back to sleep.

Dean rolled his eyes, amazed at the thought that Sam was his brother. He was a complete jerk sometimes. He grabbed the nearest pillow on the floor, jokingly pressing it onto his younger brother's face.

Sam woke instantly, flailing his arms and pushing the pillow off of his head.

"What the hell, Dean!" he gasped.

"I told you I'd smother you in your sleep, dude, you just didn't believe me."

Sam didn't answer, but gave his brother a murderous glare.

"I think I know what your problem is, Sam," hypothesized Dean. "you just don't want to admit that I figured out that case way faster than you could've."

"Yeah, Dean, that must be it. Now go back to bed."

"Fine, Sammy." Dean grabbed the soiled comforter and lank pillow, walking over to the other side of the room. He threw both onto the carpet and flopped down, but was too exhilarated to sleep. They were going to the Winchester Mansion tomorrow.

**TBC**

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**I told you the mystery deepened! R&R, and I'll update sooner.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the next chapter, guys. I'm sorry for the wait. I couldn't write during the week, because since my parents are divorced I go to each house half the time, and my dad doesn't have the internet. I got back to my mom's house a couple of days ago, but I kinda put off writing because I was tired from work, and then I had some writer's block trying to figure out how Sam and Dean are going to spend their visit to the Winchester Mystery House. Please read and review, or I won't write anymore. No, just kidding, I **_**will**_** write, but I'll be VERY depressed about it, and probably end up killing a character or something. Some of you might want that anyway, but whatever. Okay, none of this has anything to do with the story...sorry for my rant...I'll write now.**

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Sam Winchester struggled in his sleep, further entwining the thin blankets around his long legs as his body thrashed around on the motel room floor. His dark hair was drenched with sweat, and his usually smiling face was contorted into a pained expression as his next nightmare unfolded before him. He had slept the majority of the night peacefully, even having some sort of dream involving Dean taking tap lessons and playing the accordion, and it wasn't until the early hours of morning that the visions had begun to plague him.

_It was night, and he and Dean were walking through the hallways of what he assumed by its immense size was the Winchester Mansion. Dean walked in front of him, alert as always with a flashlight and a pistol at the ready._

_"Sam, what exactly are we expecting to happen?"_

_"I don't know, Dean, just...anything. We need to kill Sarah Winchester's ghost before any more of the workers die."_

_"She's not just going to appear before us, Sammy, this house is huge. We could literally be miles away from her now." Dean reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out his homemade EMF meter and taking readings of the surrounding area. "Man, this thing is going off," he observed._

_"Well, there's supposed to be lots of spirits here. We have no way of detecting which one is Sarah, and there's not really any point trying to kill any of the other ghosts. People come from all over to see this house, we should probably leave it haunted."_

_"I know I said it was Sarah earlier, man, but we could be wrong. I mean, we haven't seen her..."_

_"Dean, we're also not construction workers, remember? We're going to have to look harder, like we would if it were any other ghost." Sam stopped suddenly, touching his hand to his forehead._

_"What's wrong, Sammy?" asked Dean with concern._

_"Nothing...I just...don't you HEAR that?"_

_"Hear what, Sam?"_

_Sam grimaced. "It's so LOUD, Dean, come on!"_

_"WHAT, Sammy? What is it? What's so loud?"_

_"The hammering, and drilling, and...EVERYTHING..."_

_"You mean, like construction noises? Some people have said that they hear people working-"_

_"-Not like this, Dean, it's just getting louder! And...there's gunshots..."_

_"Gunshots? I don't think anyone has ever heard gunshots, but you are ultra-sensitive, remember?"_

_Sam screamed, now clutching his head with both hands. Dean rushed to his side, placing an arm around his younger brother._

_"Come on, Sammy!" he cried, his panic now evident. "What is it?"_

_Sam didn't answer, but simply walked over to the nearest wall and placed a hand on it for balance._

_Dean stood in front of him, pointing his gun out into the darkness of the hallway as if challenging whatever may come forward. He wasn't going to let anything hurt his brother. He gasped in surprise as the pistol flew from his hands, apparently of its own volition._

_A booming voice emerged out of the darkness to answer for this latest occurrence. It wasn't from a woman, as was expected from both of the brothers, but from a man. "NO GUN SHALL BE BROUGHT HERE. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR ACTIONS."_

_Dean was immediately thrown against the wall, and, when nothing else happened, he glanced worriedly in the direction of his brother. Sam was staring back at him, his expression one of terror. The window immediately beside him was now open. Dean attempted to run towards his younger sibling, but he discovered that he could not move. Cold, invisible hands were holding him in place, forcing him to watch what was about to happen. Sam screamed as he felt himself being pushed out the window, into the night. He was falling, falling..._

"SAM! SAMMY! Wake up, come on, WAKE UP!"

Sam opened his eyes and sat up with a start, gasping for breath and staring into the terrified and worried face of Dean Winchester.

"What was it, Sammy? Another vision? Did Sarah kill someone else?"

"Uh..." answered Sam. He didn't know what he should tell Dean. He knew that they had to explore the house, but there was no way that his older brother would ever let him step foot in that mansion if he knew that Sam had seen his own death. He wasn't really scared of what he had experienced, but confused. Why had he and Dean been preyed on in his vision? Dean hadn't had time to tell Sam all that he had found on the internet last night, but Sam was sure that he had at least heard Dean tell him that Sarah Winchester was responsible for Tommy's death. He remembered that he had, in his nightmare, told Dean that they weren't construction workers, so they would have to work harder to find the woman's ghost. He wondered vaguely what being a construction worker had to do with anything, and then remembered that Tommy had been doing construction details when he had died. In that instant, he realized what Dean had inferred about Sarah's intentions last night: she had some sort of grudge against the builders of the house for not doing something satisfactorily in the construction. He didn't know about the earthquake, or anything else strange that Dean had discovered about the house, but the story was at least beginning to make sense.

"Earth to Sam," said Dean, waving his hand in front of his younger brother's eyes. "You're spacing out, dude."

"Oh..." answered Sam. "Sorry."

"You didn't answer my question, Sammy. Did Sarah kill someone else in your vision?"

"Uh, yeah." said Sam simply. Maybe he could still tell Dean his nightmare, at least some of the details, without giving away that he had been the victim. After all, it had been nighttime in his dream, when he had...died. He figured that he would be safe during the day.

"She did? Really, who was it? We need to go now, we need to stop it!"

"Slow down, Dean!" said Sam. I'm pretty sure it was nighttime. We have time to figure this out."

"Well, who was it, then? Another construction worker? I didn't think they worked at night, but..."

"No," said Sam. "It wasn't a construction worker. It was just some guy, exploring the mansion. That's what's confusing me. You said it was Sarah, right, who killed Tommy? And I'm guessing that you found out that she holds some grudge towards the people who worked on building the house, so why would this guy be a target?"

Dean looked at Sam in disbelief. "You figured out that construction worker thing already?"

"Well, yeah Dean. Why? Embarrassed that it took you all night to reach that conclusion?"

"No," said Dean quickly, turning his head away. "It's just that you didn't even know all of the facts. I found out that there was an earthquake in 1906 that took three stories off of the house. There are four now, and there were originally seven. She was obsessed with the number seven, dude, and thirteen, and...eleven, I think. She thought that she was building the house under the direction of spirits, and I'm guessing she wasn't too happy when her workers failed to rebuild the house to her specifications. I'm pretty sure that she thinks she died because the spirits were unhappy with her for what happened to the house. The medium thingy she went to told her that if she kept building the house she lived, and that if she stopped she would die. It was supposed to be, like, perfect for all of the ghosties who died because of the Winchester Rifle that her husband patented to live in."

"The Winchester Rifle?" questioned Sam. He wondered if that could be the reason why Dean's pistol was knocked from his hand when he was holding it out. "Dean, maybe Sarah isn't the only spirit in the house that holds a grudge."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that in my vision, the guy had a gun and it was knocked from his hands when he was trying to aim it. The house is supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of the people who died from the rifle, right? I mean, that's who Sarah built the house for in the first place, according to what you're telling me."

"Yeah...so you think that they have something against anyone who tries to bring another gun into their house?"

"Right."

"But wait..." said Dean. "Why would some random guy bring a gun into the mansion? I don't think most teenaged thrill-seekers bring pistols with them into a haunted house."

"Oh, uhh..." fumbled Sam, realizing that telling Dean about the gun probably wasn't that wise. "Well, he's from California. Everyone has a gun."

Dean laughed. "No, I think that's Texas, dude."

"Whatever," said Sam. "It doesn't matter. He had one, and that's what's important."

"What did this guy look like?"

Sam smiled. "Well, he was kinda short. He was wearing like two jackets in an ugly, olive green color, and big heavy boots."

"Sounds like a smut," said Dean. Sam grinned inwardly – he couldn't make evident to his brother his amusement at coming up with that description.

"Oh, yeah," he added. "I think he was some college student, because he seemed overly cocky."

"Know the type," answered Dean. Sam laughed, unable now to hide his emotion.

"What's so funny, dude? It's weird to laugh randomly like that."

"Ah, nothing," replied Sam. "Look, if we're going to go to this mansion, we have to make a plan."

"I'm on it," said Dean, opening up the laptop. "Okay...oh, man, dude!"

"What?"

"Tours are over an hour, and $45 dollars a person!"

"That sucks! I only have like ten bucks," said Sam.

"Well, I don't have enough either, so we're gonna need another plan."

"FBI?" suggested Sam

"Nah, that's too heavy duty. This case was already ruled as a suicide – don't you think it would seem weird to have the FBI just come all the sudden? Definitely not a case for them."

"What, then? We usually go to the morgue to ID the body, guess how they died, and go from there. This guy fell out of a window, though...the body would be pretty unimpressive. Nobody is even interested in this case anymore, so no disguise is going to work. The story won't check."

"I guess we're gonna have to go by our old standby, then."

"What?" said Sam, although he already knew the answer.

"We'll go at night."

**TBC**

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**Ahhh...the mystery deepens! Please R&R!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Now onto chapter 5...oh, and just in case anybody was taking this seriously, I want to re-mention the fact that although the Winchester Mansion is real, as well as the history behind it, nobody has ever died in the house. Well, maybe they have, but definitely not because a spirit threw them out a window. (At least, I don't think so...) Well, I won't hold this up any further. Remember: Read and review, or very depressed writing is in your future!**

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"Ah..." sighed Dean, as he rolled his prized Chevy Impala past the gates of the famous Winchester Mansion. "This is it, Sam." He stopped the car, cranked down the window, and simply gawked at the site that stood before him.

The house was so immense that it seemed almost unreal. Its surroundings were so normal, so unimpressive, that it appeared as if the huge mansion was dropped there by some powerful force. It just didn't fit with the mundane architecture of San Jose, California – with the plain, worn-in asphalt of the parking lots, with the stereotypical strip malls, or with the run-of-the-mill single houses that lined the nearby roads. Dean imagined that, at some point, it had been surrounded by trees, by nature, by winding dirt roads and horse-drawn carriages. Times had definitely changed.

"Come on, Sammy! Let's get a closer look."

Sam moaned. He hadn't been able to sleep since having the nightmare, and had lain awake for hours staring at the ceiling. Things hadn't worked out like he'd hoped. He and Dean were going to go to the house in daytime, shoot some ghosts with rock salt, and get out of there before there was even time for his vision to come true. Dean would never know that Sam had seen himself die – meaning there would be no heated debates between the two brothers as to the wisdom of even continuing on with the case, and no needless worrying and excessive protectiveness from his older sibling.

But of course, nothing was ever that easy for Sam Winchester. No, tickets had to cost $45 and there had to be exceedingly long and dull guided tours. Dean had been mildly put off at these blows, but had reacted in the way he always did: find another solution that works better. Sam was usually fully willing to cooperate with his brother's schemes, but this time...well, he just didn't know. He told himself that the vision already couldn't happen, at least not as he had seen, because then, they had both still been confused about the motives of the spirits – still thinking that construction workers were the only possible targets. In addition, Sam had been surprised in the dream by the noises that plagued him, but if it were to happen again, he'd be prepared-and definitely not walk toward the wall by any window, as he had done in the nightmare.

This is what Sam told himself, over and over again since he had lain on the floor, listening to Dean's steady and relaxed breathing as he slept on his back, a few feet away. He had hoped that, if he thought hard enough, he would rise the next day without any worry. This hopeful strategy hadn't worked.

"Uh, Sam? What are you, sleeping over there? Rise and shine, little bro!"

Sam turned his gaze from the window to look at Dean, situated in the driver's side with a strange grin on his face. Sunlight instantly blinded him, and he winced as his eyed became adjusted. Dean just couldn't wait until dark to visit the house. He had dragged Sam out of bed that morning, stuck him in the car, and driven to the mansion simply to get a look at it. He loved any haunted house, but a haunted mansion? Now that was just too good to wait for.

"Who are you, Dean? Little Miss Sunshine? It's only 6:30 in the morning, dude."

The smile instantly vanished off of Dean's face. "Don't you ever, EVER," he snarled, "...call me 'Little Miss Sunshine' ever again, okay?"

"Fine, man, but you are weirdly hyper."

Dean held up a cup of coffee, as if offering the liquid substance as explanation for his perky mood.

"STARBUCKS? Dean, what happened to cheap gas station coffee?" said Sam indignantly. Starbucks cost more than twice as much as their regular cup of joe.

"This happened, Sam. Now tell me, would you rather drink THIS?" he held up another cup of liquid, having pulled it from the drink holder in the back of the car. The coffee, if you could call it that, was giving off a distinctly foul odor, and, as Sam peered into it, he could see that it was roughly the color of dirt, with strange chunks floating around in it.

Sam winced, holding his nose and turning his face away. "Why did you even keep that, man? You should've just thrown it away when you bought it."

"Well..." said Dean, "I was GOING to, but by that point, I had already decided on Starbucks, and basically figured you wouldn't want to partake in such an expensive cup of coffee. So, I kept it for you. Enjoy!" Dean began laughing hysterically, slapping his knee.

"Oh, that's good, Dean. REAL mature."

"Hey, I couldn't pass up the opportunity, man."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam grabbed the coffee cup and poured it out the window, clearly not amused.

"Oooh, cold." Dean wrapped his arms around his body, pretending to shiver.

"What?"

"It's COLD in here, dude."

"What the hell, Dean? Look around. We're in California, in the middle of the summer. It is NOT cold."

"That's exactly what I mean, Sam. You're giving me the cold shoulder, get it? You haven't been quite as perky as usual today."

Sam sighed. Dean just didn't get it sometimes, just couldn't take a hint. "Look, I'm exhausted. You woke me up at 2 a.m. all excited, I tried to go back to sleep, and then you try and murder me with a pillow. And then, when I finally got comfortable on the floor and fell asleep, I had another nightmare and saw a guy get murdered. Dude, then two hours after that you drag me half-asleep back into the car and drive me here. So EXCUSE ME if I'm not quite as excited about visiting this house right now as you. We can't even go in without paying." Sam knew what he said was the truth, but it wasn't really the reason he was so irritable. The real truth was that he was worried about the impending night, and what he should say to Dean. Going in the daytime was one thing, but at night...

"I guess I get that, Sammy," said Dean, his expression softening, "but are you sure that's it? I mean, come on, you've had visions before, woken up early in the morning, and hell, seen a lot of crap. It's really not that big a deal. Just freakin' tell me, man...I know something's up."

What convinced the youngest Winchester more than anything that he had to tell Dean what he had seen – that is, himself falling out of a window – was the way Dean asked him what was wrong. He had inquired nonchalantly, as if it wasn't a big deal, but Sam could sense that Dean was apprehensive and slightly worried about his brother. Though it was characteristic of Dean to be overprotective of Sam, it wasn't characteristic of him to express concern. Sam couldn't let him wonder as to what was wrong, and definitely couldn't let him worry.

He sighed heavily, unsure of how to start. "Listen, if I told you what it was, do you promise not to freak out on me?"

Dean looked at him uncertainly. Sam could see that he was having some type of inner conflict – he wanted to know what was up, but he wasn't sure if he could guarantee his coolness – he couldn't with anything regarding his Sammy.

"Uh, yeah, whatever. Just tell me." Dean looked at his younger brother expectantly, awaiting an answer.

Sam grimaced, breaking eye contact with his brother and looking out of the window instead. "Um, okay. It was us in the mansion in my vision."

"_Us_? said Dean with confusion. "I thought you said that there was only one guy, the guy who...wait...oh, God, Sam, one of us fell out of the window? Please, please tell me it wasn't you."

Sam looked down, unable to bring himself to say aloud what Dean had just rightly hypothesized.

"How could you not tell me this? How? It's kind of a huge detail to leave out, Sammy!"

"Dean, come on!" pleaded Sam. "You know that we have to solve this case, get rid of the spirits! People are going to die if we don't. If I told you I saw myself die, you would never let me go in."

"Right as hell I won't! I'm not going to lose you, Sammy."

"I can handle myself, Dean. Plus, I thought we were going to go this afternoon, and since the nightmare was at night I didn't think it was a big deal, but now that the plans changed..."

"Sam, it wouldn't have been that easy. Your visions are always accurate, and hard as shit to stop, no matter what you do. You had to know you just couldn't forget about it."

"I don't know," said Sam, "I guess I did, but after I woke up and told you and we figured out the rest of the story, I realized that it already can't happen as I saw it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we still thought that construction workers were the only targets, and I was surprised when I heard the noises."

"Noises?" asked Dean. "You were hearing things, man?"

"Yeah, um...construction noises. You know, sawing, hammering, that sort of thing."

"Well, that makes sense. The workers haunt the house. People have reported hearing stuff like that."

"But there was also gunshots. And that's when it started getting louder, and then my head hurt, and I walked over to the wall..."

"By a window?" said Dean. "Not too smart, considering the circumstances."

"You stood in front of me and held your gun out, but it was knocked out of your hand, and then-"

"Wait a second, dude. It was ME you described as the cocky guy in the ugly coat? You're supposed to be my brother! That's not right."

Sam laughed, relieved that his brother had calmed down enough to revert to his usual humor. "Yeah, Dean." he smiled, thinking of that moment. "I believe you described yourself as a 'smut', if I'm not mistaken."

"Not fair, Sammy. You're description was way off. I'm hot, and you know it."

"Whatever, Dean. Anyway, after the gun was knocked out of your hand this...thing...threw you against the wall. I couldn't see what it was, but then this man's voice said, 'NO GUNS SHALL BE BROUGHT HERE. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR ACTIONS." And, and then..." Sam fumbled, unsure of how to say how it ended.

"Yeah, Sammy, I know the rest. You don't have to say it." Dean looked down at his hands, unusually quiet. After a moment, he said "I...I didn't save you, Sammy?"

Sam saw where this was going. "No, Dean, but it was only because the spirit held you back. I could see you, you were yelling and trying to get to me, but you couldn't move." When Dean didn't react, Sam continued. "Anyway, it's not like it matters anyway. Come on, Dean, the vision isn't coming true. If we were walking in that hallway and all of the sudden started having the exact same conversation as in the dream, that would be a pretty good indicator. We'd be prepared, ready."

"Sam, I don't want you going in there," said Dean finally.

Sam groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you! You're being unreasonable! I'm an adult, Dean, I can make my own decisions. We're going to that mansion tonight, no two ways about it. We've done much more dangerous things before, anyway, and we're still here."

"I can go in myself," said Dean quietly.

"No, Dean, you ARE NOT going in there alone! For some reason, the spirits targeted the both of us. Hell, they could have thrown you out the window after they threw me out! We need to stay together on this one, man."

Sam studied Dean's face, trying to decipher his expression. He knew he had made a stronger case, and Dean knew it wouldn't be smart to handle the case on his own.

Dean sighed and looked over at Sam. "Man, I can tell you went to law school. You know how to argue a cause, I'll give you that."

"Does that mean-"

"Yeah, fine, Sammy. We'll go tonight. But I swear, if ANY bitch of a ghostie starts trying to shove you out a window, I'm draggin' you're lanky ass outta there."

Sam smiled, suddenly rejuvenated. "Well, let's go take a look around, see what we're dealing with."

"Alright, dude, let's go."

**TBC**

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**Hmmm...it seems as if the actual visit to the mansion keeps getting dragged out. Sorry about that, the story keeps developing beyond my control! I promise, the house will make it's appearance in the next chapter. Please R&R!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Not much to say here...I usually write some type of introduction thingy before each chapter, and I'm only writing this load of crap now out of habit, I guess. Wow, I'm tired! (If you can't tell!) Okay, well, here's chapter 6. Please, read and review! I really appreciate the ones I've gotten so far from Minako Mikoto, friendly, WinchestersGirl, JazzaAckles, Glaceo, Melissa Brandybuck, and Lilithxfic.**

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Sam had never seen anything like what stood before him, and he had seen many extraordinary things in his life. As he stepped out of the passenger side of the Impala and onto the faded pavement of the parking lot to the right of the mansion, he finally understood why Dean had been so excited about visiting this place. He was merely looking at its side now, from a distance, and yet the Winchester House of Mystery was instilling into him a sense of awe, a sense he had never experienced in all his years of hunting the paranormal. He turned to his brother, his mouth open, and pointed to the house that stood before them.

"Did you know it was like this, Dean? I mean, this BIG?"

"Well, yeah dude. Duh. You really think I'd do crappy ass research for an entire night without looking at any pictures?"

"I have."

"Well, you're different, Sammy, everyone knows that. Honestly, I'm surprised your brain hasn't exploded and spilled out all over the place, college-boy."

"However hard for you it is to believe, Dean, plenty of normal people actually read and do research for enjoyment," stated Sam matter-of-factly.

"They're all freaks, Sammy."

"So you're telling me that you're the normal one of the family?" questioned Sam, laughing slightly at the prospect.

"Nobody in this family is normal, Sam, in case you haven't noticed. I mean, you can't exactly turn on the Cosby show and watch Cliff take his family out for the traditional demon ass-whipping, now can you? But..." continued Dean, smiling mischievously at his brother, "...I'd definitely say that I come off a little less intense than you in person."

"What do you mean by that?" said Sam indignantly.

Dean stood back, evidently examining his brother. "Well, look at you, dude. You just look sad. And your freaky height doesn't help with anything. The chicks definitely prefer me over you."

Sam gasped, feigning anger to humor his brother. After the previous argument, it couldn't hurt to lighten the mood. It was Dean's defense against his true emotions, his way of keeping his characteristic hard exterior and his perpetual air of confidence. "That is so not true, Dean," he answered seriously.

"Oh come on, Sammy! The girlies just feel sorry for you, with your puppy-dog eyes and messy haircut. Every time we go to a bar, if some babe even comes up to you she ends up pouring out her deep dark secrets and you have to comfort her as she cries into your shoulder. That's not my idea of a good time."

"I don't know why that happens, Dean, but at least it helps to establish a meaningful relationship."

"You sound like Dr. Phil, man. Besides, I form VERY meaningful relationships." Dean smiled and winked at his brother, beginning to walk in the direction of the house. He stopped at a small street that separated the mansion from the parking lot, looking both ways, but was stopped from crossing when Sam grabbed his jacket.

"Uh, Dean, getting laid by a random cocktail waitress isn't exactly what I'd classify as a 'meaningful relationship.'"

"Ah..." sighed Dean, spinning around and looking at his younger brother. "...but it is, Sammy. I remember that bar in Mississippi, that hot blonde in the red stilettos-" Dean was stopped abruptly by a tugging sensation on his pants. He looked down into the green eyes of a little boy who couldn't have been more than 4 years old, apparently having been separated from his parents.

"Mister," said the little boy, putting his little hand to his eyes in order to shield them from the sun as he looked up into Dean's face, "...what are stilettos?"

Dean grinned, glancing at Sam who just shrugged in bewilderment. Children always seemed drawn to Dean.

The eldest Winchester knelt down as to place himself at the same height of the child, feeling his heart immediately soften as he took in his appearance. The boy had bright blonde hair and rosy cheeks, and was dressed in a red-and white striped t-shirt and a tiny pair of blue jeans. He had the sudden image of Sammy when he was young, coming to Dean for comfort when he scraped his knee. The same innocence was projected from the boy, innocence that Dean had lost long ago.

"They're a pair of shoes," answered Dean. If there was one thing he had learned raising Sam, it was to never leave any question unanswered from a child.

"Like these?" giggled the boy, holding out his foot and revealing a dirty white sneaker.

"Just like those. What's your name, little man?"

"Jake," he replied shyly. "I live at 8562 Grove Road in Nevada, by the big white house."

"By the big white house, huh?" said Dean. "Yeah, I think I know where that is." He found it hard not to laugh at how the boy had stated his address so bluntly, and figured he had probably just memorized it.

"Really?" said Jake, brightening. "It's a big house. I told mommy I liked big houses, and she said we could go to Cowlicfornia to see the mansion. She said it was really big too, and had ghosts like Casper in it. I like Casper."

At the mention of Casper, as well as after hearing how Jake had pronounced California, Sam seemed to go into a silent fit of hysterics. Dean, however, besides smiling slightly at the boy, kept his composure. "Yeah, I like Casper too buddy."

The boy grinned at him. "So are there ghosts in there, mister?"

"Dean," the eldest brother supplied. "You can call me Dean, little man. And yeah, I think there are ghosts in there. That's why me and my brother Sammy are here, too." Dean motioned over to Sam, who smiled at the boy.

"Hi, Sammy! My name is Jake. I have a brother, too, his name is Billy..." It seemed as if thinking of his brother finally caused Jake to become worried about where he was. He glanced around him, as if looking for someone.

Dean, having known the entire time that the boy was lost, knew it was now time to get information from Jake about his family's whereabouts without freaking him out. He had already ensured the boy's trust, something he had done intentionally through the conversation, and now he could ask some questions. "Did you come here with your parents, Jake? And Billy?"

He nodded. "And my big sister. She's in college. Her name is Veronica."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who quickly gave him a look that clearly said 'don't even think about it.'

"Do you know where they are, Jake? Maybe you could let me meet them."

"I don't know..." he fumbled, clearly becoming confused. "I wanted to come over to see the pretty cars. I liked that one," he said, pointing in the direction of the Impala. "And then I saw you with Sammy and came over, and now mommy and daddy and Billy and Veronica aren't here." Dean could see that the young boy's eyes were quickly filling with tears.

"It's alright little buddy," he comforted soothingly. "What if I told you that after we found your parents, I could let you see that car close-up? It's my car, so I can show you."

Jake looked at him with teary eyes and nodded. "Would you like that?" continued Dean.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay," said Dean reassuringly, "But first we have to find your parents." He looked mildly surprised when the boy reached up to him, but didn't hesitate in picking him up and letting him rest his head in his shoulder.

"Come on, Sammy," said Dean, "he probably wandered over from somewhere at the other end of the parking lot, so that's where we're headed. What, Sam?"

Sam just looked at him, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Raising your ass taught me a thing or two."

Jake raised his head off of Dean's shoulder, giving him a slightly reproachful look. "You said a bad word, Dean!"

"Sorry, Jake. It was bad of me to do that, huh?"

"Yeah. Really bad."

Dean laughed. "You're quite a kid, you know that?"

Jake giggled back. "Veronica just gets mad when I tell her she said a bad word."

"I have to meet this Veronica," said Dean with a smile.

**TBC**

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**I'm not really sure how that happened, the whole "I'm adding characters thing". I told you, the story is developing beyond my control! My next update might be longer, because I work this weekend. I'm sorry! Please R&R! Of, and the site isn't letting me upload dividers for some reason, hence their absence in this chapter and the last. Whatever.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, thanks a lot for all the nice reviews. I decided to update earlier, when I had some free time, because it's pretty cruel to make you all wait! Chapter eight, though, will unfortunately take longer, but I will try my hardest to update as soon as I can.**

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The parking lot was thankfully clear, thanks to the early morning hours, making it easier for Dean and Sam to attempt and locate Jake's family. Dean held him as Sam walked behind, still somewhat surprised by his older brother's gentle behavior.

"Do you remember where your mommy parked, Jake?" asked Dean.

Jake shook his head, causing his blonde curls to fall in his eyes. "No, but our car is blue. It's named Ben."

Sam gave Dean a look of pure confusion, but Dean simply gave him a nod, indicating that he understood the situation. "Do you mean that's it's a Mercedes Benz, buddy? A blue one?"

When Jake nodded his head, Sam threw his arms in the air in utter bewilderment. How in hell had Dean managed to figure that out so quickly? Suddenly, he spotted a group about fifty feet ahead, talking to a police officer. Dean hadn't yet seen the gathering, as he was looking at Jake and attempting to get more information out of the young boy. "Hey, Dean!" exclaimed Sam. "I think that may be them, standing over there."

Dean immediately looked in the direction Sam was pointing, and Jake raised his head hopefully from his shoulder. "Yeah, that's my mommy and daddy!"

"Okay, little man, I'll walk you over so I can talk to them."

"Yeah!" exclaimed the boy. "And then you can meet Veronica, too. I think you'll like her."

Dean grinned, ruffling Jake's hair and picking up his pace to reach the undoubtedly distraught family. He knew how it felt to be worried about a family member.

As he approached the standing group of individuals, the woman (who Dean assumed was the mother), gave a loud shriek, immediately running towards the eldest Winchester and scooping Jake out of his arms.

"Mommy!" he said with absolute glee.

"Oh, Jake, Jake..." she said shakily. She seemed unable to say much else, simply holding her son with relief and clutching him to her chest. The woman then placed him down on the ground, kneeling down before the boy in order to talk to him.

"Haven't I told you never to walk off by yourself? I was so worried about you! What if something had happened!"

"Nothing happened mommy," replied Jake quietly. "I just wanted to see the pretty cars."

The mother smiled despite the situation at this remark, amused as she always was at her son's innocent comments. "Okay, Jake. But promise me never to do anything like that again, alright? We're in an unfamiliar place. Always stay close to either me, daddy, or Veronica."

"Okay."

"Good," said the mother, giggling now. "Now did you see any pretty cars, sweetie?"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Jake excitedly. I saw a REALLY cool black one. It's Dean's and Sammy's."

The woman stood up then, obviously having made the correct and also obvious assumption that the two men who had brought her boy where Sam and Dean. She offered her hand for either one to shake it. Dean took it first.

"Hi, I'm Carol," she greeted warmly. "I'm guessing you found my little Jakey, here. Thank you so much for bringing him to me."

"Oh, it wasn't a problem," said Dean with a friendly grin. "I love kids. Come here, Sammy," insisted Dean, motioning for his brother. Sam walked over, flashing his characteristic white smile and brushing a long stand of hair out of his brown, puppy-dog eyes. "This is my brother, Sam."

"Hi Sam," she said enthusiastically, "Nice to meet you."

"You too," he replied politely. She was what you could call attractive, if slightly plump. She had golden blonde hair to match her son's, blue eyes, and startlingly white teeth. "Hey, Joe!" she called, evidently summoning her husband. The man was talking to the police officer, holding another young boy in his arms and standing beside a young woman, apparently Veronica. "Joe, come here! These two men found Jake!"

The father immediately ran over, nodding to the police officer that everything was fine. He knelt and held out his arms, which Jake immediately ran into.

"Daddy!"

"Jake, don't do that again, okay?" He nuzzled his face in his son's hair, and rocked him side to side.

"I already know, mommy told me. I won't, daddy, 'kay?"

"Alright, son."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Although he willed himself not too, he wished despite himself that he had had someone to worry about him and be relieved to see him when he was younger, instead of simply scolding him for screwing things up. He turned his eyes away from the embracing father and son, instead focusing on the young woman standing behind her mother. To his surprise, though, she seemed to be looking at Sam.

Sam noticed. Shyly, he introduced himself to her. "Hey, I'm Sam. You're Veronica, right?" He couldn't help but think of the irony of the situation. Dean had just finished telling Sam that all the women preferred him, and yet this beautiful blonde haired girl had walked over to HIM, not Dean.

"Yeah, uh...yeah." The young woman seemed flustered, for some reason, as she talked to Sam. "So..." she fumbled, apparently deciding she should say something else, "you guys found my brother?"

"Well, he kinda found us," Sam admitted. "He seemed to take a liking to Dean over there."

She smiled. "Yeah, he really looks up to older guys."

"I hope you all don't mind, but Dean promised he could show Jake our car after we found you. He really took an interest in it."

"Oh, that won't be a problem! We probably have time to kill anyway, right, before the mansion opens? I wasn't really sure, because our computer crashed at home. We came this early because Billy and Jake were so excited, they just wanted to see what it looked like." She looked over to where the rest of the group were standing. Jake was situated beside his obviously younger brother, looking up and smiling at Dean. Carol and Joe were grinning, amused at Jake's excitement over meeting his new 'friend.'

"It's the same thing with my brother. He's just a big kid – he couldn't wait to get over here either. But yeah, you guys are gonna have to wait. Tours don't start till nine."

"Well, why don't you wait with us? I'm sure Jake would love that."

"Uh, we're actually planning on coming back later tonight. We have plans today, we just wanted to see it."

She nodded, mild disappointment evident on her face. Sam tried to continue the conversation. "So, Jake told us you go to college. Where to you go?"

"Oh," she said, brightening. "I'll be a senior at UCLA when term starts in the fall."

"Wow, UCLA? Do you like it there?"

"Yeah, I love it. Do you go to college, Sam?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Where?"

"Oh, uh, Stanford."

"Stanford! You must be really smart!" she grinned at him, evidently impressed. "Did you graduate, or..."

"Yeah, yeah, uh...about six months ago. I studied law, but I'm really not sure I'll be a lawyer or not." It was easier to tell her that he graduated than to tell her that he stopped school to hunt demons.

"I study law, too! What a coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam felt somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. Veronica was really nice, but he was sure that at some point the conversation would turn to whether either of them were currently dating someone. He wasn't sure if he wanted to mention Jessica to her or not, but that wasn't the only reason he felt like he did. It seemed that he could never be himself with women, could never tell them the full truth about his life and what he did. He felt as if he understood now why Dean pursued casual relationships. They could never settle down, never stop hunting-at least not in the near future – and growing close to someone only led to having to hurt them when they left.

Sure enough, the next thing Veronica said was in regard to relationships.

"I don't want to sound forward, Sam, but I was just wondering...do you have a girlfriend? Because it wouldn't matter if you did, I just, I don't know, that was a stupid thing for me to ask, wasn't it! Oh god, you must think I'm an idiot."

"No, no!" insisted Sam, laughing slightly. He couldn't understand why Veronica had gotten so flustered over a simple question. "No, you're not an idiot." He paused, unsure of how to mention Jessica. It still hurt to think about her.

"I did have a girlfriend," he finally said, choosing his words carefully.

"You did?"

"Yeah, um, throughout the entire four years at Stanford, but..."

She stepped closer, looking at him with concern. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want. I don't want to pry."

"No," said Sam. "No, it's probably better that I talk about it anyway. She died."

"I'm so sorry." she said quietly, drawing her hand to her mouth. "What...what happened?"

"She was murdered. They don't know who did it, but I'm gonna find out." Sam was surprised that he was saying this much to practically a complete stranger. For some reason, though, he felt comfortable doing so.

"I don't know what to say." Veronica was quiet, staring at him with wide eyes.

"You don't have to say anything, it's okay." Sam gave her a small smile, and she patted his back reassuringly.

"I hope you find whoever did it."

"Me too."

"Wow," she said in awe, looking up at the mansion. "It's huge, isn't it? I never really looked at it before. It's beautiful."

Sam ignored the fact that the subject was so abruptly changed, grateful that they were off the topic of Jessica. His eyes followed her gaze to the mansion, when, for the first time, he really took in its grandeur. There was a huge expanse of rust-red roof, what Sam assumed must be miles in length. The house itself was a golden yellow color, with neat white trim. He lost count of the many winding spires and chimneys that projected from the top. It was quite a sight.

"Yeah, it really is beautiful." He looked over at Veronica, who blushed.

Their conversation was interrupted when Jake, very excited about something, ran over to Sam. He was clutching Billy's hand in his, a small boy of about two with dark, wavy hair and brown eyes. Seemingly not as enthusiastic as his older brother, he had the thumb of his untaken hand stuffed in his mouth, and was gazing uncertainly at Sam.

"Hey, Jakey," said Veronica, kissing him and Billy on the forehead. "Was there something you wanted to tell Sam?"

"Sammy," corrected Jake. "That's his name. Dean said so." Sam groaned inwardly. He hated his nickname. He glanced over at Dean, who was standing a few feet away with a smiling Joe and Carol. Apparently they had gotten along well. When Dean sensed his gaze, he gave him a glare – probably unnoticed by anyone else but Sam – that clearly expressed his frustration at losing out with Veronica.

"Yeah! Dean said that we could see the car now, and that I should come and get you. Billy wants to see it too, right, Billy?"

The young boy nodded his head almost indistinctly.

"Okay," said Sam, "let's go. I'll let you sit in the driver's seat, okay?"

"Cool!" shouted Jake. "Hey, Dean!" Dean walked over, appearing to be slightly confused.

"What is it, little man?"

"Sammy said that I could sit in the driver's seat! Isn't that cool?"

Sam laughed openly, holding his side. He knew Dean would be mad...the driver's seat was his sacred ground. Dean looked up at Sam, a forced grin on his face.

"Yeah, Jake," he said, the fake smile never leaving his face, "that's just great, buddy."

As Veronica walked away with the two boys towards their parents, Dean leaned in towards Sam.

"I'm gonna get you for this, man," he whispered. "And for stealing Veronica, too."

"Stealing?" whispered Sam in surprise. "She walked over to me, dude."

"Yeah, right, Sammy. You knew I had dibs."

"Oh, but Dean. I thought you said you could get any girl you want. I mean, she's probably creeped out by my freaky height anyway. I'm sure if you just walked over there, she'd instantly be drawn in by your rugged manliness."

"Shut up, Sammy."

**TBC**

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**Ahhh! This site wouldn't let me upload anything for the longest time. It took forever to get this on here! I don't have to tell you to read and review, do I?**


	8. Chapter 8

**OK, I finally got chapter 8 finished. I'm really sorry for the wait, but, as I said before, I couldn't write during the week because my dad doesn't have the internet. When I got to my mom's house, I had every intention of writing but found out that a had a full schedule of work (at Limited Too, in case you wanted to know, which you probably didn't), and when I was at home my sister hogged the computer. I'm not sure when I'll be able to do chapter 9, because I have to work tomorrow, and then on Sunday I have a Toby Keith concert at Hershey Park. And then, (sigh), I have SCHOOL on Monday. Well, at least I'm a senior.**

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"Is it time now?" questioned Jake excitedly to Dean.

"Yeah, little buddy," said Dean, patting him on the head. He opened the side door of his prized Impala, trying to keep himself from grimacing as Jake slid himself into the front seat. The only people who had ever previously enjoyed the privilege of sitting in that coveted spot had been his father, Sam, and himself. Sam made fun of him for being so obsessive about his 'baby', as he called it. Although he could never give a very witty response back explaining his slightly compulsive actions regarding the vehicle, the truth was that the Impala was one of the very few things he loved in his life.

Jake squealed with delight as he placed his diminutive hands on the steering wheel, moving them side to side like he was driving.

"Look, mommy and daddy! I'm Dean!"

Sam laughed, slapping Dean on the shoulder. "Isn't that cute, Dean?" he wants to be just like you!"

The eldest Winchester raised his eyebrows at his brother. "You think that's funny? As I recall, he's not the only one."

"What?"

"Come on, dude. Don't you remember when we were kids? You copied everything I did."

"Did not," replied Sam indignantly.

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too! Dean turned his head, suddenly aware that his and Sam's petty bickering was being heard by an audience. Embarrassed, he bowed his head, and Sam blushed as Veronica moved next to him, giggling.

"Sam, you copied everything Dean did?"

Sam shook his head, a response that caused Dean to slap him across the back of his skull angrily. "Yeah you did, Sammy! What are you, an amnesiac? I seem to remember a certain occasion when you were eleven and I was fifteen that you drew fake facial hair on your chin to match me, dude."

"That SO didn't happen, Dean!"

"It did, Sammy. I wouldn't make up a story that stupid if it weren't true. I think Veronica here knows I'm right," he added, responding to the knowing smirk on her face.

"It does sound like something a younger brother would do, Sam," she admitted. "I can see it already in Billy." She glanced at her youngest brother, smiling at his reaction to the car. Carol was holding the child next to the Impala, letting him watch Jake while he was 'driving', and the two-year old was shrieking, putting his hand up to the window and looking in at his sibling. Joe was standing off to the side, apparently the less social of the family, and simply watching the scene with a smile on his face.

"That was really nice of you two, by the way," she said warmly. "For letting him see the car, I mean. He loves stuff like that. And he really looks up to you, Dean. He doesn't usually form attachments to people that easily."

"Yeah, well...I've had some experience. I was the one to look after this dork when we were younger."

"Really?" she said. "Well, you did a good job." She gazed fondly at Sam, who gave her his signature white smile. Dean rolled his eyes. For one brief moment, he had thought that maybe, MAYBE, Veronica was becoming more interested in him. But no. She only had eyes for Sammy, the same guy who had barely said a word in the past five minutes and who definitely wasn't being as charming as he was. Life was messed up sometimes.

The young trio was interrupted as Joe and Carol approached them, each parent carrying a son. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, still enthused about his 'ride' in the driver's seat.

"Hey Dean!" he called. "Your car is really cool!"

"Thanks, little man," said Dean.

"Sam, Dean?" said Carol hesitantly. When they looked up, she continued. "Seeing as that all of my offspring seemed to have taken a liking to the both of you, I was wondering if you would like to go on the tour with us this morning of the mansion. I mean, I usually wouldn't ask complete strangers, but you both seem trustworthy enough."

"I'm sorry, Mrs..."

"Brooks," she supplied for him. "Carol Brooks."

"Thanks," said Sam, continuing. "I'm really sorry. Dean and I really weren't planning on going until later tonight. We just came to see it, because we really couldn't wait, but we have some stuff to do today."

Jake sniffed, looking up at Dean. "You can't come to the mansion with us?"

Dean looked into Jake's tear-filled green eyes, flashing back to the many times he had gazed into the similar, though hazel, eyes of his younger brother on difficult occasions – usually involving their father leaving them alone to go on a hunt. He hated disappointing kids. Silently, he cursed the fact that they had no money, as well as the fact that he and Sam had never once gone on an excursion like the one the Brooks family was – that is, a trip for pure enjoyment. Even now, they were only at this incredible place to solve a murder. They were here on important business, and something stupid like money prevented them from even going in, even if it was to save lives. And now, not only could they not go in for that, but they couldn't go in to make children happy. Instead, they had to lie, lie like they always did to everyone who entered their twisted lives.

"No, little guy. Not now. But I promise, we'll see you again before me and Sammy have to leave."

"Okay, Dean," answered Jake, brightening a little.

"So, where are you guys from, anyway?" asked Carol.

"Uh, Kansas," answered Sam, the first to speak of the two brothers.

"Kansas?" said Carol, obviously surprised. "That's a long way away! You came all the way to California just to see the mansion?"

"Well, not exactly. We're kind of on a...road trip." Yeah, he could call it that. "We're just going around the country, seeing the sights. We were in the area, and wanted to stop here because our last name is actually Winchester, which we thought was weird."

"Winchester is your last name? That is strange. Well the trip sounds like fun."

Dean snorted involuntarily, quickly turning it into a cough. "Yeah..." he coughed again, for effect. "It's a blast."

Sam smiled, laughing slightly at Dean's attempt at covering up his reaction to the idea that their little 'road trip' was fun. It was anything but, unless your idea of a good time included exorcising demons and banishing spirits.

"Where are you staying?" asked Joe, the first time he had acknowledged the brothers.

"Oh, we have a hotel close by," said Dean quickly.

"Which one? Because I know a lot of them around here are really expensive."

"Oh, I forget the name. We just checked in, got a pretty good deal." The last thing Dean needed was strangers feeling sorry for him – he didn't want to tell them that in reality, they were staying in a crap hole on the side of the street.

At that moment, Billy started crying, burying his face into his mother's shoulder.

"Shush, shush..." cooed Carol. "It's all right." She looked up at Sam and Dean, shrugging slightly as if apologizing for her son's behavior. "I should've known not to bring him here so early, but Jake was absolutely begging to come. We'd better go, I know we have to wait anyways to get in. I've gotta feed little Billy here, maybe give him a nap."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Of course. We have to go too."

"Well, it was nice meeting you," said Carol.

"You too," said Sam and Dean in unison.

"We look forward to seeing you boys again," said Joe.

"Here," said Dean, scratching a number on a scrap of paper. "Here's both of our cell numbers, in case you can't reach one. You don't have to call or anything, but we might not have much chance of running into each other. We'll be here a little while, maybe we can have lunch or something."

"Thanks," responded both Joe and Carol.

Dean and Sam started walking away, waving goodbye to Jake (who was waving back wildly), but were stopped as Veronica rushed up to them. She kissed Sam on the cheek, and then said a rushed "Goodbye," before running back to catch up with her parents.

Dean gave his brother a frustrated look as they both situated themselves in the Impala.

"What, Dean?" asked Sam.

"'What'? is that all you have to say after all of that?"

"Uh...all of what, exactly?"

Dean sighed. "I don't get it. You went to Stanford and can tell me the square root of pie, and yet you have no idea how you just made us both sound."

When Sam continued to look clueless, Dean continued. "Come on, Sam...'yeah, we're going on a road trip, you know, seeing all the sights. We wanted to come here, because our last name is Winchester and we thought that was weird.' You sound like some gap-toothed country hick who gets excited too easily."

Sam threw his hands in the air. "How in hell to you get that out of what I said, Dean? I had to say something to explain what we were doing there."

Dean was quiet for a few seconds, staring ahead through the windshield. Sam knew what his problem was, and could almost see the jealously burning under his skin. Sure enough...

"What was with that kiss, man? She didn't have to KISS you, she barely even knows you!"

Sam grinned at Dean. "Yeah, that was nice."

Dean just groaned and started the engine of the Impala, muttering words under his breath that sounded mysteriously like "not fair," "much hotter," and "blonde in stilettos."

Sam chose to ignore it. "So, where are we going now?"

"Breakfast," answered Dean simply.

"I know for a fact that you ate at least three chocolate donuts this morning from the gas station, Dean."

"How? You weren't there, dude. Are you doing some psychic reading on me now? I should get an aluminum foil hat to block my mind, man."

Yet again, Sam ignored his brother's comment. It was something he was all too used to doing. "You think I don't know your morning ritual? You always buy donuts at the gas station."

"Yeah, well..." Dean fumbled, apparently having taken for granted how well Sam actually knew him. "I'll get you an award, if that's what you want. It'll say 'World's Most Annoying Gap-Toothed Country Hick Younger Brother With Psychic Powers' on it."

"I don't think you'll find that at Hallmark, dude."

"It's the principle of the thing," said Dean.

"All right," continued Sam, choosing to focus on the day ahead of them. "Well, we still have a whole day to kill before it gets dark, and now we have to stay here until tomorrow too so we can squeeze in lunch with the Brooks family. So what do you want to do till then? We've already got the info we need, so the library's out."

"I don't know about you, Sammy, but I'm gonna go to a bar and score myself someone hotter than Veronica. You can stay at home and watch PBS."

"Dean, I don't-"

"Yeah, you do, Sammy. Don't try and deny it. I caught you watching 'The History of Submarines' last week, dude."

Sam said nothing, merely staring out the window. "We don't get that channel anyway," he said under his breath.

**TBC**

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**Do I have to tell you again? Please Review! (And I'll just apologize again for how long I know it's going to take for chapter 9. Bear with me, 'kay?)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Ahhh...finally! Sorry for taking so long to update, I've been so incredibly busy! School did start, which sucks big time, (especially since my scedule is AP European History, Advanced Studies Spanish, AP Calculus, and Sociology--fun, huh?), and I've also been working on weekends--my only available writing time. Oh, and by the way, I DID go to that Toby Keith concert at Hershey Park, but it rained the entire time! my whole family had to buy $8 plastic ponchos from the stadium and sit on water-covered plastic folding chairs (so much for $70 a ticket!) It was still awesome, but very wet. Recently, I've also been very depressed about the death of Steve Irwin, who was my idol when I was younger. He was a great person who didn't deserve to die, who could have done so much more for the world. I think it's awful for his entire family, especially his children. He left behind his 8-year-old daugher Bindy, and his 2-year-old son Robert--kids who deserved a lifetime with their father. I know this subject isn't related to the story, but I had to pay a tribute to him...I still think I'm going to send a card of condolences to Austrailia Zoo. Anyways, on with the story!**

The lonely diner on the side of the road was exactly Dean's type of place. Quiet, empty, free from any gossiping pre-teens and prying old ladies. Yes, even the elderly women seemed to have some sort of attraction to the eldest Winchester brother. Though he admitted it was slightly creepy, it was still some sort of proof of his indelible irrestistibility to women of all ages. Sam seemed to think the whole Veronica thing was a joke, but Dean was determined to prove to his younger brother that he was still the dominant male. That was one thing about empty diners, he knew. Less customers, more attention from the hot waitresses.

"Are we stopping here?" yawned Sam without interest. He was all too used to their familiar lifestyle.

"Yeah, I need fuel," replied the young hunter, rubbing his stomach. "Bacon. Eggs."

"Bacon? Eggs? I thought you said you didn't have any cash, dude," said Sam with a laugh. "That's gonna cost you some dough."

Dean raised his eyesbrows at Sam. "I didn't say I didn't have ANY cash, I said I didn't have enough for a sadistic $45 two-hour tour."

"Oh yeah, man, guided tours of a famous mansion are sadistic," replied Sam sarcastically, laughing. "You know, I heard that they take you out back and beat you when it's over."

"Well, I think it's wrong," said Dean, ignoring his brother's wise-ass comment. "Come on, dude, they CHARGE you to show you a house they didn't even build? And keep you there for two hours, walking through hallways and possibly putting you in danger of being pushed out of a window to your doom? We should charge to take people into some of those places we've been, Sammy, we could make a fortune. How 'bout we start with the field with the muderous scarecrow and continue on to the asylum? Serious business, man, serious business."

Sam looked at his brother with incredulity. No matter how many weird things Dean said, he never failed to amaze him. He could find humor in anything. "Uh, first of all, bro, I'm pretty sure the employees aren't aware that there are murderous ghosts haunting the mansion that want to push people out of windows. And second of all, those tours would never work...they go across like 5 states, man."

"Again, Sammy, it's the principle of the thing. You're so literal, brain-boy. I'll leave you with one word on the subject of guided tours: Gilligan."

"What?"

"Just think about it, dude. Just think about it," said Dean assuredly, pulling the 67' black Impala into the parking place directly in front of the main window of the diner. It was evident, even from the outside, that the diner was deserted. The only cars in the other spaces of the lot were a rusted Buick and a navy blue Ford with the front bumper falling off.

"Ah," said Dean, "perfect." He his his disappointment that none of the cars likely belonged to a hot, twenty-something blonde waitress. Oh well, he could deal. And besides, you never knew. In a town like this, with houses close by, employees could walk...

The two brothers stepped out of the classic car, shutting the side doors behind them and walking together into the diner. The bell chimed as they opened the door, causing the few customers to raise their heads in interest. An old man with a long gray beard and a red flannel shirt was sitting at the counter, clutching a coffee mug in his hands and apparently muttering something to himself under his breath. A heavyset woman wearing an extremely tight pink spandex dress with bleach-blonde hair was sitting at one of the booths, cozying up next to a very timid looking, tiny man with dark spectacles and wearing what Dean was sure was a pocket protector on his white collared shirt. The last customer was a man wearing tight jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat, listening to very loud country music on his walkman and shoveling pancakes into his mouth.

Dean let out a low whistle upon observing the crowd. He put his hand over his mouth, leaning in to Sam's ear. "Jeez, man," he whispered, "these dudes make us look completely normal."

Sam smirked, just as a waiter walked out from the back room and up to the brothers. Already amused by Dean's comment, Sam found it extremely difficult not to just start laughing on the spot at the appearance of the employee. His hair was greasy, and fell into his eyes, and there were strange brown stains on his shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and it wasn't hard to deduce the cause--there was a faint whiff of smoke as he came nearer. It wasn't the man's appearance that made Sam want to laugh (as it was more sad than amusing), but rather the fact that they were going to order FOOD from him. Just as with the motel, they couldn't afford more expensive food in the area. Suddenly, Sam understood why Dean wasn't exactly worried about having enough money to order breakfast--knowing his brother, he had scoped the place out beforehand.

"Ya guys wanna booth or counter seat?"

Dean shrugged, glancing at Sam as if to gather his opinion on the matter.

The waiter sighed. "It's not like it matters anyway," he said, looking around the dreary restaurant. "Just sit wherever." With that, he walked away.

"Oooh-kay..." said Dean, "I guess...yeah, there looks good," he said, pointing to the booth nearest to the door. The waiter nodded at them from across the room as they chose their seat, holding up one finger to alert them that he'd be there in "one minute."

"Why the hell is he leaving?" asked Sam, frustrated. It looks like he's the only one working here, and we just came in." As an answer, Dean simply put two fingers to his lips and blew, pretending to smoke.

"The dude's definately toking, bro," he said, laughing. "I'd probably be too, if I worked in a hell hole like this."

"Oh," said Sam, "so getting attacked on a regular basis by demons and poltergeists doesn't do it, but working here would?"

"Yeah, man," he said (as if it was the most obvious thing in the world), "at least life is interesting."

"So..." asked Sam, opening the torn menu, "you still want to order bacon and eggs, Dean? Because I think you might be safer with toast or cereal, unless you want to die an early death."

"You really think I'm worried about dying an early death from breakfast food, Sammy? I mean, this man's not going down from a rancid piece of bacon. I say bring it on!"

Sam simply shook his head, looking down to read the menu. Unsurprisingly, the items seemed to have been hastily scribled in pen, and almost all were spelled wrong. "Cereal" was spelled _S-E-R-I-A-L_, "Bacon" was spelled _B-A-C-I-N_, and "Toast" was spelled _T-O-S-T-E_. He sighed, deciding to order "toste" and jam. He wasn't all that hungry anyway.

Dean, however, was licking his lips, looking around anxiously for the waiter. He was obviously starving. Upon seeing him, he waved him over. "We're ready to order."

"Okay," replied the young man (his eyes even more red than before), "What'll it be?"

"I'll have two eggs over easy with bacon, with a side of homefries and a cup of coffee--no sugar or creamer," said Dean quickly. He glanced at Sam expectantly.

"Uh...I'll just have some toast and jam, thanks."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," said Sam. Suddenly, he was struck with a question. "Do you, um, cook the food yourself?"

"Sure do," said the man with pride. "Why?"

"No reason," answered Sam hastily. "Just wondering."

As the waiter ("Larry", according to his nametag) walked away, Dean kicked Sam under the table.

"God, Dean! That hurt!" moaned the younger brother.

"Well it should!" said Dean. "'Do you cook the food yourself?' That was rude, bro."

"You're worried about me being rude? What that woman is doing over there is rude, Dean," he insisted, nodding his head forward to the booth down from them.

Dean turned his head to look over his shoulder, only to be greeted with the sight of the large woman in the spandex dress running her hand over her body seductively and pursing her lipsticked lips at Dean. When she saw he was looking at her, she gave a little wave and blushed. Her "boyfriend" had apparently gone to the bathroom. Dean turned back immediately, a look of repulsion on his face. Sam just laughed.

"You always said you could attract anyone, Dean. And besides, she is blonde--you're favorite type! She may even be wearing stilletos. I swear, you always get the good ones."

"Shut your cakehole, Sam."

"Ah, great comeback," grinned Sam. His spirits had greatly improved since meeting Veronica. "Oh, and I have a question, Dean," he said, his expression more serious. "What was with you ordering more coffee? What happened to the Starbucks?"

"Uhhh...I DRANK it?"

"Seriously, Dean. I think you have a problem."

"No," he said, "I have a healthy addiction. There's a difference, college-boy."

A half an hour had passed, and the food still hadn't come. Not that it mattered much, anyway--the Winchester brothers had time to spare for once, and used the long stretch of dullness to talk about their plans for that night. They were going to jump the gate, hoping there was limited security, pick the lock, and come in equipped with guns packed with rock salt, Dean's EMF meter, and flashlights. There was no solid plan except for to shoot any and every spirit who came near. The burning-of the-bones in the graveyard idea was pretty much shot to hell, considering that they could never dig up the hundreds of people who haunted the mansion. Sam had vehemently argued with Dean's idea of being a bike helmet and a pillow, for protection if he was pushed out a window. The scary thing was that Dean was being half-serious with the suggestion. He would go to any length to protect his brother, even if it called for dressing him up like a pansy.

The eldest Winchester dealt with the many inappropriate looks from the polyester-clad woman in silence, simply giving her strained smiles and a thumbs-up whenever she glanced in his direction. The nerd who was evidentally her boyfried had caught on after a while, shooting Dean dark looks from across the room and placing his arm possesively around her broad middle. The constant exchange highly amused Sam.

"Ah, it looks like he's threatened by you, Dean! You wanna go over there, you know, assert your dominance and claim your woman?"

"SHUT UP, Sammy!" he hissed for the upteenth time. When he glanced up, however, a smile immediately replaced his previous scowl. Their food had come.

Larry placed the plated down without comment, and walked away. To Sam's surprise, the food seemed almost acceptable. Sure, it had taken a half an hour for the man to toast bread, but it appeared to be edible enough. There was blueberry jam spread invitingly on top, and the bread was wheat with sunflower seeds stuck in it. He began to eat without hesitation, pleasantly surprised that a good meal came out of all of the waiting. Dean immediately dug into his eggs and bacon, shoveling bites into his mouth at heigh speed.

The food was gone in no time. Dean laid back with his hands on his stomach and sighed, indicating he was full. Sam was about to look at the bill when he was struck by an intense, severe pain in his head.

He screamed, clutching his forehead and falling onto the floor. The room had cleared out by now, and Larry was out doing God knew what, which left the two brothers temporarily alone.

Knives were being pressed into his skull, he could feel it. Flashes of moments opened up before his eyes, but there wasn't much detail...FLASH _he and Dean were walking through a hallway, much like in his previous_ _vision..._FLASH _their faces appeared nervous, tense..._FLASH _the window was opened,  
Dean was thrown against a wall and knocked out..._FLASH _the figure of a man with a gunshot wound appeared, laughing_...FLASH _he was falling, falling again like he had before, into the never-ending blackness of night..._FLASH _he saw himself, lying on the dewy grass in the moonlight in a pool of a dark liquid, his eyes staring blankly into the sky...he could hear Dean's screams..._FLASH _there was complete blackness._

**TBC**

**Oooh...this is my first cliffie! I'm evil, hehehe! Please Review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ahhh...finally! Sorry for taking so long to update, I've been so incredibly busy! School did start, which sucks big time, (especially since my schedule is AP European History, Advanced Studies Spanish, AP Calculus, and Sociology – fun, huh?), and I've also been working on weekends, my only available writing time. Oh, and by the way, I DID go to that Toby Keith concert at Hershey Park, but it rained the entire time! My whole family had to buy $8 plastic ponchos from the stadium and sit on water-covered plastic folding chairs (so much for $70 a ticket!) It was still awesome, but very wet. Recently, I've also been very depressed about the death of Steve Irwin, who was my idol when I was younger. He was a great person who didn't deserve to die, who could have done so much more for the world. I think it's awful for his entire family, especially his children. He left behind his 8-year-old daugher Bindy and his 2-year-old son Robert – kids who deserved a lifetime with their father. I know this subject isn't related to the story, but I had to pay a tribute to him...I still think I'm going to send a card of condolences to Australia Zoo. Anyways, on with the story!**

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The lonely diner on the side of the road was exactly Dean's type of place. Quiet, empty, free from any gossiping preteens and prying old ladies. Yes, even the elderly women seemed to have some sort of attraction to the eldest Winchester brother. Though he admitted it was slightly creepy, it was still some sort of proof of his indelible irresistibility to women of all ages. Sam seemed to think the whole Veronica thing was a joke, but Dean was determined to prove to his younger brother that he was still the dominant male. That was one thing about empty diners, he knew. Less customers, more attention from the hot waitresses.

"Are we stopping here?" yawned Sam without interest. He was all too used to their familiar lifestyle.

"Yeah, I need fuel," replied the young hunter, rubbing his stomach. "Bacon. Eggs."

"Bacon? Eggs? I thought you said you didn't have any cash, dude," said Sam with a laugh. "That's gonna cost you some dough."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam. "I didn't say I didn't have ANY cash, I said I didn't have enough for a sadistic $45 two-hour tour."

"Oh yeah, man, guided tours of a famous mansion are sadistic," replied Sam sarcastically, laughing. "You know, I heard that they take you out back and beat you when it's over."

"Well, I think it's wrong," said Dean, ignoring his brother's wise-ass comment. "Come on, dude, they CHARGE you to show you a house they didn't even build? And keep you there for two hours, walking through hallways and possibly putting you in danger of being pushed out of a window to your doom? We should charge to take people into some of those places we've been, Sammy, we could make a fortune. How 'bout we start with the field with the murderous scarecrow and continue on to the asylum? Serious business, man, serious business."

Sam looked at his brother with incredulity. No matter how many weird things Dean said, he never failed to amaze him. He could find humor in anything. "Uh, first of all, bro, I'm pretty sure the employees aren't aware that there are murderous ghosts haunting the mansion that want to push people out of windows. And second of all, those tours would never work...they go across like five states, man."

"Again, Sammy, it's the principle of the thing. You're so literal, brain-boy. I'll leave you with one word on the subject of guided tours: Gilligan."

"What?"

"Just think about it, dude. Just think about it," said Dean assuredly, pulling the 67' black Impala into the parking place directly in front of the main window of the diner. It was evident, even from the outside, that the diner was deserted. The only cars in the other spaces of the lot were a rusted Buick and a navy blue Ford with the front bumper falling off.

"Ah," said Dean, "perfect." He hid his disappointment that none of the cars likely belonged to a hot, twenty-something blonde waitress. Oh well, he could deal. And besides, you never knew. In a town like this, with houses close by, employees could walk...

The two brothers stepped out of the classic car, shutting the side doors behind them and walking together into the diner. The bell chimed as they opened the door, causing the few customers to raise their heads in interest. An old man with a long gray beard and a red flannel shirt was sitting at the counter, clutching a coffee mug in his hands and muttering something to himself under his breath. A heavyset woman wearing an extremely tight pink spandex dress with bleach-blonde hair was sitting at one of the booths, cozying up next to a very timid looking, tiny man with dark spectacles and wearing what Dean was sure was a pocket protector on his white collared shirt. The last customer was a man wearing tight jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat, listening to very loud country music on his walkman and shoveling pancakes into his mouth.

Dean let out a low whistle upon observing the crowd. He put his hand over his mouth, leaning in to Sam's ear. "Jeez, man," he whispered, "these dudes make us look completely normal."

Sam smirked, just as a waiter walked out from the back room and up to the brothers. Already amused by Dean's comment, Sam found it extremely difficult not to just start laughing on the spot at the appearance of the employee. His hair was greasy and fell into his eyes, and there were strange brown stains on his shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and it wasn't hard to deduce the cause – there was a faint whiff of smoke as he came nearer. It wasn't the man's appearance that made Sam want to laugh (as it was more sad than amusing), but rather the fact that they were going to order FOOD from him. Just as with the motel, they couldn't afford more expensive food in the area. Suddenly, Sam understood why Dean wasn't exactly worried about having enough money to order breakfast-knowing his brother, he had scoped the place out beforehand.

"Ya guys wanna booth or counter seat?"

Dean shrugged, glancing at Sam as if to gather his opinion on the matter.

The waiter sighed. "It's not like it matters anyway," he said, looking around the dreary restaurant. "Just sit wherever." With that, he walked away.

"Oooh-kay..." said Dean, "I guess...yeah, there looks good," he said, pointing to the booth nearest to the door. The waiter nodded at them from across the room as they chose their seat, holding up one finger to alert them that he'd be there in "one minute."

"Why the hell is he leaving?" asked Sam, frustrated. It looks like he's the only one working here, and we just came in." As an answer, Dean simply put two fingers to his lips and blew, pretending to smoke.

"The dude's definitely toking, bro," he said, laughing. "I'd probably be too, if I worked in a hell hole like this."

"Oh," said Sam, "so getting attacked on a regular basis by demons and poltergeists doesn't do it, but working here would?"

"Yeah, man," he said (as if it was the most obvious thing in the world), "at least life is interesting."

"So..." asked Sam, opening the torn menu, "you still want to order bacon and eggs, Dean? Because I think you might be safer with toast or cereal, unless you want to die an early death."

"You really think I'm worried about dying an early death from breakfast food, Sammy? I mean, this man's not going down from a rancid piece of bacon. I say bring it on!"

Sam simply shook his head, looking down to read the menu. Unsurprisingly, the items seemed to have been hastily scribbled in pen, and almost all were spelled wrong. "Cereal" was spelled _S-E-R-I-A-L_, "Bacon" was spelled _B-A-C-I-N_, and "Toast" was spelled _T-O-S-T-E_. He sighed, deciding to order "toste" and jam. He wasn't all that hungry anyway.

Dean, however, was licking his lips, looking around anxiously for the waiter. He was obviously starving. Upon seeing him, he waved him over. "We're ready to order."

"Okay," replied the young man (his eyes even more red than before), "What'll it be?"

"I'll have two eggs over easy with bacon, with a side of home fries and a cup of coffee – no sugar or creamer," said Dean quickly. He glanced at Sam expectantly.

"Uh...I'll just have some toast and jam, thanks."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," said Sam. Suddenly, he was struck with a question. "Do you, um, cook the food yourself?"

"Sure do," said the man with pride. "Why?"

"No reason," answered Sam hastily. "Just wondering."

As the waiter ("Larry", according to his name tag) walked away, Dean kicked Sam under the table.

"God, Dean! That hurt!" moaned the younger brother.

"Well it should!" said Dean. "'Do you cook the food yourself?' That was rude, bro."

"You're worried about me being rude? What that woman is doing over there is rude, Dean," he insisted, nodding his head forward to the booth down from them.

Dean turned his head to look over his shoulder, only to be greeted with the sight of the large woman in the spandex dress running her hand over her body seductively and pursing her lipsticked lips at Dean. When she saw he was looking at her, she gave a little wave and blushed. Her "boyfriend" had apparently gone to the bathroom. Dean turned back immediately, a look of repulsion on his face. Sam just laughed.

"You always said you could attract anyone, Dean. And besides, she is blonde – your favorite type! She may even be wearing stilettos. I swear, you always get the good ones."

"Shut your cakehole, Sam."

"Ah, great comeback," grinned Sam. His spirits had greatly improved since meeting Veronica. "Oh, and I have a question, Dean," he said, his expression more serious. "What was with you ordering more coffee? What happened to the Starbucks?"

"Uhhh...I DRANK it?"

"Seriously, Dean. I think you have a problem."

"No," he said, "I have a healthy addiction. There's a difference, college-boy."

A half an hour had passed, and the food still hadn't come. Not that it mattered much, anyway. The Winchester brothers had time to spare for once, and used the long stretch of dullness to talk about their plans for that night. They were going to jump the gate, hoping there was limited security, pick the lock, and come in equipped with guns packed with rock salt, Dean's EMF meter, and flashlights. There was no solid plan except for to shoot any and every spirit who came near. The burning-of the-bones in the graveyard idea was pretty much shot to hell, considering that they could never dig up the hundreds of people who haunted the mansion. Sam had vehemently argued with Dean's idea of being a bike helmet and a pillow for protection if he was pushed out a window. The scary thing was that Dean was being half-serious with the suggestion. He would go to any length to protect his brother, even if it called for dressing him up like a pansy.

The eldest Winchester dealt with the many inappropriate looks from the polyester-clad woman in silence, simply giving her strained smiles and a thumbs-up whenever she glanced in his direction. The nerd who was evidently her boyfriend had caught on after a while, shooting Dean dark looks from across the room and placing his arm possessively around her broad middle. The constant exchange highly amused Sam.

"Ah, it looks like he's threatened by you, Dean! You wanna go over there, you know, assert your dominance and claim your woman?"

"SHUT UP, Sammy!" he hissed for the upteenth time. When he glanced up, however, a smile immediately replaced his previous scowl. Their food had come.

Larry placed the plated down without comment, and walked away. To Sam's surprise, the food seemed almost acceptable. Sure, it had taken a half an hour for the man to toast bread, but it appeared to be edible enough. There was blueberry jam spread invitingly on top, and the bread was wheat with sunflower seeds stuck in it. He began to eat without hesitation, pleasantly surprised that a good meal came out of all of the waiting. Dean immediately dug into his eggs and bacon, shoveling bites into his mouth at high speed.

The food was gone in no time. Dean laid back with his hands on his stomach and sighed, indicating he was full. Sam was about to look at the bill when he was struck by an intense, severe pain in his head.

He screamed, clutching his forehead and falling onto the floor. The room had cleared out by now, and Larry was out doing God knew what, which left the two brothers temporarily alone.

Knives were being pressed into his skull, he could feel it. Flashes of moments opened up before his eyes, but there wasn't much detail...FLASH _he and Dean were walking through a hallway, much like in his previous_ _vision..._FLASH _their faces appeared nervous, tense..._FLASH _the window was opened, Dean was thrown against a wall and knocked out..._FLASH _the figure of a man with a gunshot wound appeared, laughing_...FLASH _he was falling, falling again like he had before, into the never-ending blackness of night..._FLASH _he saw himself, lying on the dewy grass in the moonlight in a pool of a dark liquid, his eyes staring blankly into the sky...he could hear Dean's screams..._FLASH _there was complete blackness._

**TBC**

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**Oooh...this is my first cliffie! I'm evil, hehehe! Please Review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey again, guys! I'm so happy to be writing again, I can't even tell you...I haven't had ANY internet access for almost two weeks, it's been awful! I guess I'm pretty addicted to this site, because I had some serious withdraws – not just from writing, but from reading and reviewing too! I just caught up on all the stories I've been following. Oh, and is anyone else traumatized by the first two episodes of the second season? I'm not going to say what happened in case anyone didn't see the premiere, but let's just say I'm pretty depressed. The story must go on anyway, right? Here goes...**

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The ride back to the motel was silent – well, silent save for the blaring Metallica music Dean had turned on immediately upon entering the Impala. To Sam, however, it was as if a blanket had been laid over the car, smothering all sound and preventing any noise from penetrating his brain. He had told Dean that everything was fine, that what he had seen was no big deal. He had to, had to assure his protective brother that he was unfazed by his morbid vision. If he didn't, there was no way in hell that Dean would ever let him step foot into the colossal mansion, and if that were to happen Sam was sure more people would die. He had to put aside his fears and be the warrior he was raised to be, the warrior that Dean hadn't ever stopped being a moment in his life. He told himself repeatedly that his visions weren't set in stone, that they constantly changed. They could be stopped – he had stopped Max from killing his stepmother, hadn't he? And...he gulped…from killing Dean. This shouldn't be different. Sighing, he laid his head against the passenger side window, letting the coolness of the glass soothe his still aching head.

Dean drove without thinking of anything but what had just happened in the diner, without thinking of how pale and helpless Sammy had looked, trapped within the dark confines of his own mind. He had felt helpless himself, unable to do anything but sit there like an idiot. He had decided to turn on the Metallica on the way back to their crapshoot for two reasons: one, to assure Sam that he was fine, as the music was such typical Dean-o behavior, and two, most importantly, to steady his own nerves. He hummed under his breath to "Ride the Lightning", attempting to seem carefree and relaxed, as he usually was. He also tried to ignore the fact that a word hadn't been spoken throughout the entire trip.

The motel slowly made its way into his line of vision. The peeling gray paint on the outside looked even worse under the harsh morning light than he remembered from the previous afternoon.

"We're back in heaven, Sammy," he said sarcastically as he rolled the classic car into the parking lot.

"Great, Dean," the youngest Winchester moaned as he raised his head from the window. "That's just fantastic."

"Still a bit sleepy there, Sammy boy?" said Dean, ruffling his hair.

"Dude, I'm not five," said Sam. "I'm fine."

"Whatever." Dean decided not to press the issue. If nothing had just happened at the diner, he wouldn't have thought anything of Sam's grumpiness. He opened the heavy metal door of the Impala, waited for Sam to do the same, and walked with his brother to their depressing motel room. Upon entering, Sam flopped down onto the bed, spreading his body into a spread-eagle.

"Man, I could use a nap, bro."

"Uh, dude," said Dean, laughing. "Have you forgotten what I found in those sheets yesterday?"

Sam immediately bolted upright, grimacing and rubbing his hands over his body, as if to cleanse himself of the germs he had picked up from the filthy mattress. "Gross, man!"

Dean just laughed. "If you get syphilis or something, I am so not taking care of you."

"You can't get syphilis like that, Dean. You have to be..."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You really want to continue on with that riveting explanation, bro? I could use a good sex-ed lesson."

"Never mind," said Sam, his face reddening. "You know what I mean. I just...I think I'll take a shower now."

"Probably a good idea, brain-boy."

Sam went into the dank bathroom, closing the old wooden door behind him. At a loss for anything else to do, Dean opened his laptop, placing it on the small round table in front of him. There had to be some other way to get rid of the spirits. They could use rock salt, but it would be only a temporary repellant from the ghosts. They had to get rid of those bastards.

Dean mentally went over the situation, as it had begun to get jumbled in his mind. Okay, there are spirits throughout every section of the house: a group of those who died by the Winchester rifle, a group of construction workers who never stopped working, and Sarah Winchester herself. Sarah had killed Tommy, the construction worker, to get revenge on her own workers for not rebuilding the house after the earthquake to meet her expectations. Sammy had seen himself die in both of his visions, apparently at the hands of a man who had been shot and killed by the famous gun. It seemed as if the workers were the only ones who hadn't yet caused any harm – they were also the ones who likely didn't even know they were dead, since Sam and others had heard construction noises in the house. _So...we just have to get them all to leave,_ thought the eldest Winchester. _Great, this is gonna be a blast._

Logging on to the internet, Dean navigated to his favorite site: Google. He wasn't much of an in-depth researcher. Feeling like an inexperienced idiot, he typed in "getting rid of malevolent spirits" into the search bar. He clicked on a couple of sights to no avail – people had some pretty twisted ideas about how to handle the supernatural. He wished he could just do what he always did in similar situations, but he didn't exactly feel like digging up hundreds of graves and salting and burning bones of people who may not even be involved in the case. He figured they could probably find Sarah's grave, but if they were caught at the cemetery at night excavating the corpse of a famous woman in history, the results would certainly not be pretty. And besides, there was no guarantee that would end the other haunting – even if she WAS the center of it.

He remembered how Missouri had led them in cleansing their old house of the poltergeist, but he had no idea what she had used. Sam could probably recite the ingredients the woman had placed in those little bags to him if he asked. He considered it for about a second, until he realized that that hadn't even ended it. The poltergeist had stayed in that case, and that was only ONE. These sons of bitches weren't poltergeists, but they were nasty as hell and they wouldn't leave the mansion easily. Frustrated, Dean clicked on the next site he saw: _"Haunted?"_ Among other things that seemed fairly useless to him, he caught the words:

_...I also recommend smudging with sage (I prefer white sage). It is a simple and powerful way in which to remove negative energy from the area. Smudging is a Native American ritual. To use the sage, place a few leaves in a fireproof container (I use an albacore shell) and light them or light the bundle. The flame will go out in a short time and the sage will begin to smolder. Fan the smoke with your hand or feather. Say a blessing of protection as you walk around. Fan the smoke around you, imagining it passing through you, flowing through you, and drawing out all of the imperfections that have collected within yourself. I recommend going to the farthest part of your house and work yourself towards the front, opening a window where you can draw all of the negative energy out. Don't forget to smudge closets, basements, nooks and crevices, etc._

Maybe it would work...except for the whole "opening a window to draw the negative energy out" thing, (he REALLY didn't want to open any windows) and the advice to "smudge" the sage and every nook and cranny of the "house". This was much more than a house, it was a mansion! Well, at least it was something...a bit too new-agey, "hug-a-tree and get high with me" for Dean, but he remembered hearing that sage was a powerful spirit repellant from dad. And that was good enough for him. Still, he needed more.

He laughed a bit as he found the next portion of the same article. Sammy would love it.

_Because spirits were once living, breathing people, the best thing to do is to actually speak to the spirit. In essence you have to act as a counselor to the spirit to get to the bottom of the activity._

This was definitely up his little brother's alley. Dean could always see Sam as some sort of psychiatrist, an image he had conjured long ago upon seeing how Sammy interacted with their traumatized clients. He stared at them with his brown doe-eyes, always ensuring their trust and without fail always got them to reveal their deepest secrets. But counseling murderous ghosts? Now that was out there, at least to Dean. His core belief was that anything supernatural should be killed, not given a tissue and asked to spill its problems.

He was startled from his thoughts by a yelp from the bathroom, followed by a crash. Immediately going into older brother protective mode, Dean ran to the door of the bathroom and began pounding on the flimsy wooden door.

"Sammy? What's going on in there? Are you okay?"

All he heard was running water from the other side of the door, so he continued pounding. He didn't notice when the door opened – that is, until his still moving fist clocked his brother in the face.

Sam stumbled, falling onto the wet bathroom floor. He pinched his nose, as it had begun to bleed. "God, Dean! What was that for?"

Dean reached down, giving his brother a hand so he could stand up. "Man, Sammy! I thought something happened to you, is your nose okay?"

Sam tilted his head back, keeping his fingers pinched on his nose, adjusting the towel around his waist with his other hand. "You thought something happened to me in the BATHROOM? Dude, I think I'm capable of showering on my own."

"You never know, with all the crap we see. So, you're good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine man. It's not like that's the first time you've clocked me."

"It's the first time I've done it accidentally," clarified Dean. "There's a difference."

Sam just shook his head, laughing. "You never cease to amaze me, Dean."

Dean shrugged, a glint in his eye. "What can I say?"

"You can SAY," said Sam, "'sorry for banging down your bathroom door and punching you in the face.' Just a suggestion."

"I'm not saying I'm sorry until you tell me what happened. You havin' a party in there or something? You yelped like a little girl, sounds like you must've been having some fun."

"What do you think happened, Dean? Look where we are. With all of the other crappy things in this room, a good shower is pretty unlikely. The water turned brown, and then turned, like, twenty degrees. I bolted out and knocked over the trashcan by the bathtub, and I was trying to freaking pull a towel around my waist and turn off the water when you started banging like the world was coming to an end."

Dean looked at his brother silently for a second, and then began laughing hysterically. Gasping for breath and holding a stitch in his side, he said "Aww, Sammy! I can't believe you just said it all like that, as if you thought it wasn't just a little embarrassing! Little Sammy scared of cold water?"

Sam looked up, shaking his head impatiently. After Dean's laughter ceased, he looked back at his brother. "What about you, huh? Why were you so freaked out?"

"Why was a freaked out? Sammy, we were raised to always be on alert, to think that every little thing was supernatural. Besides, you and showers...with your weirdly long legs...you know, you're bound to fall at some point."

"So it had nothing to do with earlier?"

"Earlier?" said Dean innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Dean! Seeing my own death? Passing out? You don't think you're just a little freaked still?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't know, Sammy."

Sam sighed. "Whatever, Dean." His eyes scanned the room, landing on Dean's open laptop. "Find anything new?" he asked, walking over and looking at the screen.

"Not much," said Dean nonchalantly. "Mainly just a load of bull about-"

"-counseling spirits?" finished Sam for him, reading what Dean had left on the monitor.

"Yeah, I thought you'd find that funny, Sammy-boy."

"Why would I find that funny? Maybe it'll work."

"'Maybe it'll work?' Dude, spirits need to be shot up, not given a freaking psychiatric session."

"What other suggestions do you have, Dean?" asked Sam, exasperated. "I mean, these ghosts have some issues. Maybe we can talk to them, convince them to move on."

"What makes you think they'll talk to you?"

"Supernatural things are kind of drawn to me, Dean. You're the one who keeps telling me I'm a ghost magnet with all of my 'psychic' powers, if that's what you want to call them."

"Uh, Sam? Are you forgetting that these bitches THREW YOU OUT OF A WINDOW? Do you really want to talk to them?"

"They threw me out of a window when I had a gun, remember? Maybe I'll hide it this time, they'd have no reason to want to kill me."

"When'd you get so damn into philanthropy?"

Sam smiled. "So you think it's worth a shot?"

"Maybe, Sammy, but I'm standing right behind you the entire time, and you're going NOWHERE NEAR a window, got that?"

"You really think I want to go near a window at this point? I don't think you've got to worry about that."

"Okay, you can try your little 'cry it all out, it'll be okay' method. I'm gonna burn some sage, too, just in case."

Sam looked mildly surprised at this. "Sage, huh? It is a pretty good spirit repellant, but it's not really your style, is it?"

"Well, everything that's my style has been shot to hell, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm tired of all this talking, I gotta get out." Dean walked to the front of the motel room, grabbing his jacket from across the chair. It was summer, but Dean Winchester's "layered look" never changed.

"Where are you going?"

"Where are WE going, Sammy, I'm not leaving you alone. And the answer is a bar, I gotta tie one down, maybe hustle some pool, and definitely score a hot blonde. We've got till sundown."

Sam groaned. Bars weren't really his thing, but he'd go for Dean. "Fine, let's go."

Dean grabbed his keys, and flashed Sam a smile. "I've gotta get some M&M's on the way, too, don't let me forget."

"I won't." No, his brother never did cease to amaze him.

**TBC**

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**I hope this explained a bit more...I had to do a little wrap-up, because I think the story was getting a little too complicated. I hope you liked it, please review! As always, I have no idea when my next update's going to be...hopefully soon!**


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm so sorry everyone...another long (2 weeks?) update, you probably all hate me now! Forgive me! If anyone is still reading, and I entirely hope that everyone still is, here's chapter 12. Drop me a line! I have a Halloween party tonight, so it might take me longer to reply to your reviews. I'm dressed as a French maid, a costume only bought due to limited funding ($20) and was kinda surprised that when I put it on it looked incredibly slutty. It's complete with pink feathers and fishnet stockings, I'm still afraid to show my dad...anyway, on to the story!**

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A slightly disgusted Sam Winchester grimaced as he watched his older brother virtually devour his jumbo-sized bag of M&M's. The strange thing about Dean's face-stuffing spectacle was that he was successfully managing to do both that and drive the Impala at the same time, a feat accomplished by leaving the bag of candy precariously perched on top of the dashboard, behind the steering wheel. Sam has said it before and he would say it again: his brother never ceased to amaze him.

"So what bar do you have in mind, Dean?" said Sam, choosing to simply ignore Dean's revolting behavior and focus on where they were going.

"Pfffgysss frraodhhhse," garbled Dean with difficulty, having answering before swallowing the mass of masticated chocolate in his mouth.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" said Sam, laughing. "I didn't quite catch it." He cupped his hand around his ear, leaning in towards Dean and placing a look of focused concentration on his face.

Dean swallowed with a gulp. "Shove it, Sammy," he said. His voice sounded angry, but the hint of a smile on his face revealed his actual amusement at the situation. "I said it loud and clear, you deaf idiot."

"Nah, I don't think you did, unless we're going to "Piffgy's Frods" which is what I heard."

"'Piffgy's Frods?' Close Sammy, but no cigar. You're dumber than I thought, scholastic-boy. We're going to Pugsy's Roadhouse."

"Pugsy's Roadhouse? That sounds charming, Dean. Maybe we'll meet a nice motorcycle gang."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe."

Sam just laughed. Dean hadn't seemed to get the sarcasm in what he had said, probably even thinking that a motorcycle gang would bring some excitement to their day. He turned his head and stared out into the nothing landscape around them, attempting to clear his mind of all thoughts related to his visions and the Winchester Mansion. They were here to relax, to have fun. He was determined not to be the moody younger brother sitting off to the side while Dean made himself into a Casanova-which is how things usually turned out. About meeting girls, though...as much as he would love to rub getting another date in Dean's face, he couldn't seem to get his mind off of Veronica. _Stupid,_ he told himself. _I barely even know her, and we'll end up leaving anyway. I'll never see her again._

Dean glanced over at Sam, who seemed to have rid himself of his previous flippant behavior and was now staring pensively out the window, traditional Sammy-boy behavior. Grinning his usual mischievous grin, he silently put a Blue Oyster Cult cassette into the player, waited for the opportune moment, and turned up "Don't Fear the Reaper", blasting the song through the car speakers.

Sam jolted in his seat. "God, Dean! Why do you always have to do that?"

"Cause it's funny, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Blue Öyster Cult? Now I'm getting reminded of the whole Hell House job, with that symbol on the wall, not to mention the reaper that nearly killed you. Thanks a lot for those soft and fuzzy memories, Dean."

"Dude, it's just a song. Don't look so far into it. Hey, I wonder how those two Buffy-loving nerds are doing? Ya think they made it all the way to L.A.?"

"I'm sure they had to stop when they smelled that dead fish in the backseat, Dean."

"Oh yeah," said Dean, laughing, "I forgot about that. Whew, those were some good times." He looked at Sam, raising his eyebrows.

"Don't even think about it, Dean! We called a truce, remember? No more stupid practical jokes."

"Whatever. If anything...unusual...happens to you, then, remember: we made a TRUCE. It won't be my fault."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, Sammy. I'm just saying, don't blame me for anything."

"Don't you think that you saying this is kinda a clue, Dean? Now if something does happen I know it'll be your fault, unless you're psychic now too and are predicting things before they happen."

"Nah, that's only you, Sarah Michelle Gellar."

"Fine, then. Same goes to you."

"What?"

"You heard me."

The boys had reached an unspoken agreement. It was on. When it would start, though, now that wasn't as definite.

**SPNSPNSPN**

Pugsy stood by his bar counter, proudly puffing out his chest and observing his loyal crowd. He had made this bar from nothing...or at least, that's what most thought. He had become a sort of legend in the town, being the only son of two drunks and still having successfully built up a business. He had regular customers, the so-called "rough crowd", all of whom still greeted him jovially at the door. They weren't rough, they just acted tough. Greeting at the door? It was always " Hey Pugsy, how's life?" as they sat on the barstool. "Get me my regular." They dressed in black leather, they were tattooed and pierced, but they were nothing. Softies in disguise. He was the something. He had no blatant sign in his appearance as to his true nature. He was balding, overweight, seemingly a harmless, lonely man. A close observer, however, could see right through him. The dead giveaway were his eyes. They were small, dark, and shiny, like pieces of coal. He always had them narrowed at passerby, scrutinizing their every move. The were eyes that had been witness to his own evil act, an act he had committed long in the past, an act responsible for his mysterious sudden access to money, money which allowed him to build the bar. The act of killing his parents.

He glanced out the window, which had a view of the parking lot, and saw a black '65? '66? Nah...he looked closer...a classic '67 Chevy Impala pulling into the nearest available parking space. Two young men stepped out, somewhat raggedy in appearance, although distinctly proud all the same. They walked close together, hands in their pockets, and as the shorter man's back faced him he caught the glint of a pistol sticking out of his back pocket. A pistol, huh. These guys surely didn't fit in with the usual comers, but Pugsy already gathered they were tougher than most who entered. They didn't need to fake anything.

**SPNSPNSPN**

Sam, it seemed, had also noticed Dean's gun.

"Dude, why'd you bring that? We're not going on a hunt, it's just a bar! Someone could see it."

"There's a potential hunt everywhere you go, Sammy. A place like this, especially. The crowd's a bit...iffy. Don't worry, Sammy-whammy. I'll hide it, it's not like I want to start a fight."

"Sure, Dean."

Dean nodded his head in approval. "Thank you anyway, mommy."

Sam said nothing, but followed Dean through the heavy oak door and into the dimly lit roadhouse. The smell of smoke was overpowering, as was the blaring classic rock throughout the room.

Dean grinned as he walked in. "My kind of place."

Sam just gave a small, forced smile. This really wasn't his type of scene. He glanced around and saw the usual: girls in short skirts gathered around a pool table, caressing scroungy men playing against another group of guys (an activity he was sure Dean would want to partake in), extremely drunk fat guys wearing leather, swooning even as they were sitting, and a few younger guys wearing cowboy hats in the corner. The thing that threw him off was the guy behind the counter. His eyes bore into his mind, staring him down and distinctly giving off a foul impression, an impression of, well, evil.

Sam nudged Dean, whispering into his ear. "Does that man at the counter seem a little off to you?"

Dean looked where Sam was pointing. "Who do you mean? Baldie over there?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "He gives me the creeps."

Dean scrutinized the man for a second, receiving a deathly stare and a sneer in return from the bar owner. "I think I see what you mean. Who cares, though?" he said throwing his hands in the air. "You can't expect everyone here to be all nice and friendly..." he stopped short, just noticing the girls standing over by the pool table. "Well, there's my sign, Sammy," he said, as a blonde smiled at him. He walked to the wall and grabbed a cue stick, striding over to the other end of the roadhouse. Sam sighed. He wouldn't follow Dean, as he was an awful liar and couldn't convince anyone that his brother was a truly bad player. Instead, he braved it and sat at the counter, in front of the evil-looking man.

"I'll have a Coors Light, please."

"Please?' the man growled. "Why so formal, sonny-boy?"

"Just trying to be polite," said Sam cautiously.

"There ain't room fer politeness in a place like this, boy," said Pugsy. "I own this here bar, and I ain't gonna put up wit' some goody-two-shoes."

Sam sighed. "Sorry for offending you, sir. Could I have that beer now?"

"There ya go again. All polite-like. I saw yer friend there had a gun, ya can't be all that civilized."

"If you're not going to get me that beer, I guess I'll just leave then." Sam started to get up, disgusted at how he was being treated. The man had watched them from outside, and looked closely enough to notice the small glare of silver from Dean's pistol? Something just wasn't right with him.

"Hold yer horses there, sonny-boy. Yer a touchy one, aint'che? I'll get that beer if ya shut up and stop mouthin' off."

"Then I don't want it." Sam stood up and this time did walk away, leaving a stunned Pugsy behind the counter.

Where had that little shit gotten off? Nobody mouthed off to him, not nobody! He was the owner of this establishment, he had worked hard enough to build it up and now he got freakin' disrespectful customers. He watched the young man walk over to his friend, a shorter man who currently had two girls hanging off of him and was playing pool. The annoying brat nodded over to where he was standing, causing his friend and both of the girls to turn around and look. The girls were Becky and Regina, his daughters! His daughters were flirting with that little asshole, that was the final straw. Pugsy left his spot from behind the bar, walking slowly over to where those two disrespectful boys were standing.

**SPNSPNSPN**

Sam and Dean hadn't yet noticed, as they had turned back around and were again facing the pool table.

"He's not so bad," said one of the girls, a pretty brunette with red lipstick on.

"What are you talking about, Regina? He's a hard ass! He doesn't let us do anything, and you know just as well as I what he did..." the other girl, evidently Becky, trailed off, looking almost ashamed.

Regina just glared at her, saying nothing.

"What did he do?" said Sam, curious.

"That's private business, Sammy, you don't want to pry," said Dean quickly, disappointed that his flirting time was being interrupted. "Look!" he said, trying to distract them. "Perfect shot, right here..." He knelt over the table, carefully angling the cue stick, and took a shot that sank two balls.

The man he was playing against scowled. "I thought you said you hadn't played before," he growled. "Yer a liar, I ain't playing no more." He walked away, leaving a disgruntled Dean behind.

"You bet me! Five bucks a ball, bucko, pay up!" The man took no heed, instead just leaving the bar.

"Shit," Dean said. "That sucks ass." He looked up. Sam gave him a small smile as a response, but was still focused on Becky and Regina. They were hiding something.

"Wha..." Sam attempted to ask both of the girls again what was up, but was interrupted by a strong shove from behind. He turned around, immediately greeted by the cold, calculating stare of Pugsy. Dean, aware of how Sam had complained of the older man's behavior, immediately stood up straighter, ready to stand up for his brother.

"Ya boys better listen up, I ain't saying nonna this again. Next time ya guys piss me off things aren't gonna go as nice, if ya'll get my drift. Ya boys stay away from my daughters, ya hear?"

Dean shook his head in disbelief, somewhat amused that this guy was supposed to scare him. Sam looked a bit more timid, but was standing strong nonetheless.

"Come on, daddy!" pleaded Regina. "They didn't do anything, we're just having fun! I swear!"

Becky sighed. "Jesus, Regina! You're just going to take this! You're unbelievable!" She turned to face her father. "I'm an adult, dad," she said coldly. "I can hang out with whoever I want, whenever I want. I'm not going to take your crap anymore." She spun around, attempting to walk away, but shrieked a second later as Pugsy grasped her shirt from behind, forcibly yanking her into his grip. He started shaking her, yelling indistinguishable obscenities, seemingly forgetting that he was still in a public place. Regina cowered in the corner, covering her ears.

"Hey! HEY!" yelled Dean. "Get your hands off her!"

"I'll do whatever I want wit' my own daughters, ya little shit," he said snidely. He released his hold on Becky, who immediately ran into the corner and joined her sister. Pugsy was focused on Dean now, intense hatred burning in his eyes.

"Lets see how yer 'tude there is after I get a little rough wit' yas," he said. "Drop yer gun, lets have us a fight."

Dean laughed, placing his pistol on the nearest table. He raised his hands in the air, accepting the challenge. "Whatever you say, old man."

"Dean..." warned Sam, shaking his head and frowning.

"Nah, Sammy, I got this. I'm not gonna let this jerk mess with his daughters like that, there's some things you just can't take, Sam-o."

Sam accepted his defeat, sitting at the booth with his head in his hands. When Dean got angry, there was no changing his mind.

Dean stepped out to the center of the bar, where Pugsy stood waiting. He was cheered on by several of his fat biker friends in the corner, and seemed pretty confident he would win. He kissed his bicep, flexing his non-existent muscles.

"Ya ain't got a chance in hell, boy," he snarled. "I boxed in junior high, ya know."

"Did you now?" said Dean, trying not to laugh. "Very impressive."

The two men circled around the bar, each one waiting to make the first move. After a few seconds, Pugsy formed a fist, slamming it in a punch against Dean's gut.

The old barkeeper stood back, apparently expecting Dean to moan or fall over. But he didn't move. Instead, the young hunter grinned hugely, and began laughing at his opponent. "That was weak, baldie! Sammy over there hits harder than you."

Sam open his mouth in protest, while Dean just shrugged. That punch really hadn't hurt at all, from a guy that big he was expecting more.

"Uh...that was just, ya know, a taster. Ya should be scared now..." He then began throwing random, uncoordinated punches at Dean, who ducked each one easily and threw one, hard punch to the side of the bitter man's face. Pugsy was pushed against the wall, stunned by the force behind the blow.

Dean banged the man's head against the cement wall, and then threw him to the ground. Pugsy stood up on weak legs and attempted to hit Dean again, missing the younger man's face completely and instead stumbling and almost falling forward. Dean sighed – he was at least hoping for a challenge, but this guy was just too out of shape. He gave a fake yawn and lazily pulled Pugsy from behind him, throwing him down on the floor. He gave him one final, nose-breaking punch, and then kneeled down to speak directly to the despicable man.

"I could hurt you more now, buddy," he said with a laugh. "Oh, so much more...a little junior high boxing isn't exactly a match for 22 years of fighting lessons from your father. I like to fight fair, though. I think this is enough. Whatever bad thing you've done in the past to win your respect, I think it's pretty safe to say you've lost it all now." He glanced around the bar, where the majority of the people were looking down at Pugsy with disgust. They had seen their previous role model abuse his daughter and then lose a humiliating fight, they weren't coming back. The bikers were laughing as they left, pointing at the defeated man and making jokes. "Yep, you're toast buddy. Have a nice life."

Dean stood up, leaving Pugsy on the ground and walking over to where Sammy was sitting with Becky and Regina.

"Thanks for that," Becky whispered. Regina nodded in agreement. "He really needed someone to knock him off his high horse, I'm glad you came."

Dean smiled. "No problem, ladies. I'm always at your service."

Sam smirked. Dean was still trying to flirt, although it was pretty useless at this point.

"We should probably go now, Dean. I don't exactly want to stay here after that enjoyable experience."

"Uh, yeah..." said Dean, obviously disappointed. "Bye, ladies...you know you're gorgeous, right?" They both smiled, red in the face, and he gave him a wink in return as the left the bar. Sam kicked Pugsy as he walked by him, something which caused Dean to look at him with surprise.

"I had to get something in, Dean, you kinda stole the show," complained Sam as they got into the car.

"You mean, I got the girls and beat baldie to a pulp?"

"You charmed a couple of girls and punched their psychopath father a couple of times, Dean. I still got Veronica."

"Shut up, Sammy. They wanted me."

"Sure."

"What're we gonna do now?" asked Sam. "When we're not hunting, we've got pretty boring lives, Dean. We've got absolutely no plans, bro."

"Ah, we'll find something. Probably just hang till sundown, prepare for the big showdown. You gonna be ready?"

"Oh, I'll be ready."

**TBC**

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**All right, please review! The next chapter is the mansion!**


	13. Chapter 13

**OMG. I am so sorry guys. REALLY. This has been my longest update, but I can safely say that it wasn't my fault...I swear! It can mostly be attributed to work, considering that I worked like 15 hours last weekend in total, and that is literally my ONLY writing time. Not to mention the fact that I had college applications and AP Calculus homework. Jeez. I feel like I've been letting all of you down, so I'll try to make this a super-great chapter. No promises though. It is, finally, the mansion! I hope it comes across okay...here goes...**

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"This shit smells." Dean wrinkled his nose, looking down with his characteristic overly-dramatic expression at the sage he was currently tearing into small pieces and placing in cloth bags.

"I kinda like it," said Sam, shrugging.

"That's 'cause you're a pretty-boy, Sam-o. Always have been. Dude, sage is a chick smell."

"'Always have been'? What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. I know you like Oprah, and you've always been a little too into all that crap with emotions and letting your feelings out."

"It gets girls."

"Sure," said Dean. "Whatever you say."

"So," said Sam, changing the subject. "What happened to using an albacore shell, like the woman said on that website to burn it in?"

"What IS an albacore shell, college-boy?"

Sam shrugged. "I thought you knew."

"Oh yeah, 'cause that's just common knowledge. I typed it in on Google and all I got were pictures of tuna."

Sam laughed. "Google?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Nope," said Sam, shrugging.

"Good. Now I figure that this is probably better anyway, because cloth burns and it'll release more smoke."

"Sounds logical," said Sam, "but do you really think it'll work? I mean, I know I said it was a powerful spirit repellent and all that, but I think it's meant for cases of like one spirit in a single-family house. Not too sure about a 160-room mansion, but I guess it's worth a shot."

"It's always worth a shot," said Dean, "if it means saving people. Besides, you've still got your whole psychiatrist plan."

"Yeah, but what if this won't work, Dean? What if we can't stop more people from dying?" Sam couldn't keep the hitch of concern from his voice. They'd never really had a job of this magnitude, and even though he tended to have some luck in solving the problems of distraught people, he wasn't so sure about the success he'd have with hundred year-old murderous spirits.

"Oh, we will," said Dean. "Damn straight. There is no friggin' way I'm letting some bitch throw people out of windows, especially you, Sammy. Not gonna happen." Dean stood up from his chair, placing the few cloth bundles he had made into the deep pockets of his brown leather jacket. "Oh, and by the way," he added, "I've decided you're not leaving the first floor."

"Is that right?" questioned an incredulous Sam, laughing at Dean's audacity.

"Yes, it is," answered Dean simply. "Even you can't possibly get into danger if you stay there. Just walk to the center of the room and, I don't know, meditate of something...like Gandhi. Draw the spirits to you with your mind." Dean hummed a bad rendition of the classic "mysterious background music" tune for effect, looking at Sam expectantly for a reaction.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Are you being serious, man? Meditating? I don't think so. And besides, what good am I to you if I stay on the first floor why you go off to explore? Who's gonna save your ass if Sarah or any of those other ghosts decides to throw YOU out of a window, huh? You've already agreed, we've gotta stay together on this one. In case you haven't noticed, bad things tend to happen when we get separated."

"Bad things...?" began Dean, looking at Sam with a feigned look of confusion on his face.

"Oh, come on!" sighed Sam. We split up to look for the skinwalker, he kidnaps you and steals your body, almost murdering everyone. We have a dumb fight and leave each other in different states, you almost get killed by a homicidal scarecrow controlled by insane townspeople-"

"-I could've gotten out of that," Dean quickly insisted.

Sam continued as if he didn't notice. "-I leave a bar while you go to the bathroom, I get pulled under a car and knocked out by unbathed hicks who want to hunt me for sport..."

"...Okay, I get where you're going," said Dean tiredly. He rubbed his eyes. "It's just...I don't..." Dean seemed unable to find the words for what he was thinking, trying to get his point across while at the same time avoiding his feared chick-flick moment. After a second, he continued. "I don't want something to happen to you, especially when I know I could've prevented it."

"We're prepared, Dean. We've done thousands of hunts, there's always risk involved."

"But this time...we KNOW, Sammy, we KNOW what could happen."

"That doesn't mean it WILL happen, Dean. We'll take precautions, like always. You'll have my back, I'll have yours."

"You sure you don't want a pillow and a helmet?" said Dean casually. Sam, however, could sense that Dean wasn't being entirely comedic with the suggestion.

"I think I'll pass," said Sam.

**SPNSPNSPN**

Night came quicker than perhaps either of the brothers would have wanted. They spent most of their time idly, Dean polishing his guns while Sam made futile efforts at finding more information on the internet that could possibly help them in their endeavor. The TV was tuned to CMT yet again, although neither Sam nor Dean actually watched it. It was simply background noise, something to cut through the silence in the room. As the sun went down, Sam felt a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. They still had hours to kill until the mansion was finally cleared of all people, tourists and employees, but something about seeing the darkness of the night in which his vision had taken place caused him not to feel scared, as he had partly expected, but exhilarated and determined to end this crap.

"We should probably get some sleep before leaving," said Dean suddenly, looking at Sam from across the room. "We've gotta be at our best for this, and we probably won't get any sleep tonight, if we're out long enough."

"Yeah," said Sam. "You're right." Honestly, he wasn't sure how he could possibly sleep feeling as enthused as he was at the moment, but Dean had a point. Sam's body, if not his mind, was exhausted. He needed to be on full alert, keep all of his senses sharp. It's what a hunter did.

Sam grabbed the soiled blanket and pillow, curling his long body into a ball on the floor. The motel room had gotten cold as the sun went down, strange considering that the night was warm. He really didn't want to know why – the motel was unusual on many different levels.

Dean gathered his own blankets and settled himself on the floor across from Sam, laying in a position that allowed him to keep a full watch on his brother. He didn't know why he felt the need to do this, but he felt that way before any hunt. It was his job to watch over Sam, to protect him, and though he knew that his younger sibling understood this, he knew that Sam could never really comprehend Dean's fears of screwing up in some way, of letting anything happen that he could have stopped. As he watched Sam sleep, he couldn't stop a smile from crossing his face. His brother was curled into a ball, something non-habitual although necessary in the strangely chilly atmosphere of the dank motel room. Sam looked so young, so innocent. Dean focused on the rise and fall of his chest, assuring himself that Sam was going to be okay. He had to be okay.

Although he needed to, he couldn't sleep. He was surprised that Sam had drifted off so easily, considering the circumstances, but then again he had been pretty worn out lately. As Dean lay on the thin carpet, he watched the red, glaring minutes tick by on the alarm clock. 8:00...9:00...9:30...10:00. It was finally time. He stood up and grabbed a dagger as well as a gun loaded with rock salt from the table. He couldn't bring himself to forego it...ghosts didn't have x-ray vision (as far as he knew), and he needed something to give him security. The dagger, well, that was just something he grabbed out of habit. You never knew when you could need one.

"Sammy-boy, it's time to wake up!" yelled Dean, giving his brother a soft kick in the side. "It's hunting time, bro."

Sam woke instantly, already alert and ready. He was relieved that he hadn't yet had another vision about the Winchester Mansion, although he was sure he did catch blurry snippets from the previous two. It was nothing, though. Nothing new. He cleared his mind of any uncertainty, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat from the back of the lounge chair.

"Take this," said Dean, holding out a pistol.

"Dean-"

"No protests, Sammy. Don't take it out unless you need to, just keep it well hidden. You can't go in there with no way to protect yourself."

Sam grabbed the gun without a word, knowing that Dean was right. If worst came to worse, bags of sage and psychological wisdom were not going to help matters.

**SPNSPNSPN**

In the absolute darkness, the mansion took on a looming form – much different from the previous grandiosity it had projected during the daytime. It was like the night converted its image, revealing the truths of the actual horrors that lied within the walls.

Dean took a deep breath as the house came into view. In truth, the sight had given him a bit of a shock, but he wasn't about to let Sam see his fear. He stepped out of the car, which he parked a safe distance away from the entrance so as to not look suspicious, and took steps towards the entrance, Sam following in his wake. He hadn't looked at the house closely before, as he had been distracted by the arrival of Jake (not to mention Veronica), but it seemed easier to get in than he had thought previously. For one, the gates were almost laughable as an attempt to keep the Winchesters out. They weren't very long nor high, and could be easily jumped. Besides that, he didn't see any other security.

"Come on, psychic-boy," he said with enthusiasm, "this shouldn't be too hard."

The two brothers jogged to the gates, looking briefly around them to make sure that nobody was on their tail. They both jumped over the bars with ease, a skill obtained by years of experience breaking into to various properties with their father. They entered into an immense courtyard, complete with fountains, a huge garden, and rounded hedges.

"People spend way too much time with plants, man," said Dean. "I just don't get the appeal."

Sam laughed, amused as always that Dean, even in such a stressful situation, could crack jokes about a topic that really wasn't even funny.

They approached the front door, standing underneath the awning covering the large front porch.

"Is there security?" asked Sam.

"Probably..." said Dean absently, searching the perimeter of the door for any signs. He knew how to disable alarm systems, if only he could find it...

Suddenly, just as Dean thought he was onto something, the door in question creaked open. It was like the house had been waiting for them to arrive.

"Well, that's not at all creepy," said Dean, slowly walking in.

Sam followed with some trepidation. If the ghosts already knew that they were there, there wasn't much of a chance that Dean would have the opportunity to walk aimlessly around the corridors, burning sage. They'd get to him first.

As the two young men ventured in to the confines of the mansion, they were instantly greeted with a huge room, something Sam would probably call a foyer – although it wasn't like he had much experience in visiting houses of the rich. He was more accustomed to motels.

"Lets just explore the first floor first," said Dean quickly, eager to put off going to the upper stories.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "That sounds good to me."

Dean kept an almost annoyingly close proximity to Sam as they explored the sprawling first story, straying occasionally only to investigate anything strange he came across.

"Son of a...!"

Sam turned around, his heart catching in his throat. What happened to Dean? He had turned away just for a second, to open one of the doors...he glanced wildly around, only to be confronted with a sight far from the horrible one he expected.

"That hurt," said Dean, rubbing his forehead and walking out of the darkness of the room.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," said Dean, turning away.

"Dean..."

"Fine! I opened one of the doors and walked in, but there was a wall behind it I didn't see."

"So...you walked into it?"

"Sort of."

Sam laughed.

"It isn't funny, Sammy! That door was just cruel."

"Fine, whatever."

"You know, I'm a little disappointed so far. This 'hunt' has been pretty anti-climactic."

"I guess," said Sam. He wasn't about to tell Dean, but the truth was that from the moment he had entered the mansion, he felt weird. He could swear that he heard tools in the background – not nearly as loud as he had in the vision, but more of a slight noise that persisted in his head. His stomach felt uneasy, and his head throbbed. Something more would happen, he knew. But he also knew that it wouldn't be on this floor.

Dean had turned away from Sam, reaching inside of his coat and pulling out one of the packets of sage. He took out a lighter and lit the bottom of the bag, causing it to smolder and let off faint wisps of smoke. He waved it in random spurts around the room, a look of slight embarrassment on his face.

"I don't think this is doing crap, Sam."

Sam had to agree. His feelings of uneasiness were still there, the sage hadn't done anything.

"I think we need to try it on another floor, I just have a hunch that there isn't anything on this level."

"Oh, one of your psychic brain-waves?" asked Dean.

"You could call it that," said Sam.

Dean sighed. He had really been hoping they wouldn't have to leave the first floor, but it looked like they didn't have a choice. "Where's the staircase?"

"I think it's over here..." said Sam, following a narrow hallway that led to a winding stair. He looked up, seeing only darkness.

"Charming," murmured Dean.

**SPNSPNSPN**

The second floor held nothing. Neither did the third. By this point, Dean had burned all of his sage packets, and was nursing his forehead – the victim of many repeated encounters with walls.

"I think they're drawing us to the top floor," said Sam.

"Good observation, Einstein," replied Dean. "But why are they even targeting us? Do they already know we have guns, or what?"

"No, I think it's something else," said Sam thoughtfully. As they had progressed to each floor, the pain in his head had gotten stronger, as had the construction noises. Dean wasn't at all affected...which meant that only Sam was being targeted, for some reason or another. He was purposely staying away from windows as he and Dean winded through the narrow hallways...the situation was too similar for Sam's liking to the circumstances in his vision.

"What do you think it is?" persisted Dean.

"I can't really explain, Dean, it's just...a feeling. We need to go to the fourth floor. They're waiting."

"That's pretty cryptic, Sam-o, just to let you know. I mean, 'they're waiting?'"

"Well, they are."

**TBC**

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**Okay, I wasn't planning to stretch the mansion trip into two chapters, but more kept on coming to my head about what I wanted to write and it became necessary. Now, I know that there are bound to be inaccuracies in this chapter about the rooms in the mansion, as well as the security and how they got in. I hope it's not too off, but it's the best I could do, considering that I haven't actually BEEN there. Do I have to tell you to review? PLEASE! It's the only payment I get for all my hard work.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the long update! I know it sounds old now, as I've said this before every chapter, but I really have been INSANELY busy! So, this may or may not be the last chapter...the action will pretty much end here, but they'll probably be an epilogue (at some point...) with Veronica. Please read and review, I really love all feedback, good or bad. (Although I do prefer good…)**

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Dean glanced up into the pitch black obscurity of the looming staircase, taking a deep, steadying breath and stealing a glance at Sam. The troubled young man was pale, sweat glistening in a thin sheen under the glare of Dean's flashlight.

"Hey, you okay man?" asked Dean. "You look like you're about to spew those beer nuts from the bar all over the place."

Sam rubbed his head. In truth, the dull ache that had began upon his entrance into the mansion had escalated greatly since approaching the staircase to the fourth floor, and the background construction noise he had tolerated for the duration of the investigation now had reached the point in which it sounded like jackhammers were pounding away mere inches from his head. At the same time, he almost welcomed the unwarranted bothers, no matter how irritating and painful – they signified that they were heading in the right direction to making contact with the spirits of the Winchester House of Mystery.

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are, Sammy. Just watch where you aim that vomit, or you're paying for a new leather jacket." Dean kept his tone light, but he knew Sam would catch the hint. He was concerned.

"I'm not going to vomit, Dean. I just have a headache, that's all...I think it means we're getting closer." Sam began walking ahead of Dean, using the side of the wall as a guide in finding his footing in each strangely positioned stair.

"Whoa, dude," said Dean. "Slow down! Who said you could get ahead of me? You ARE the target, remember? Bitch wants to throw you out of a window, ringing any bells?"

Sam sighed and threw his hands in the air, in recognition of defeat. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing to the empty, dark space in front of him.

Dean gave him a satisfied nod, although Sam caught the momentary flash of hesitation and insecurity on his face before he stepped ahead-the house obviously creeped him out. The two brothers walked in relative silence through the darkness, each hunter lost in his own thoughts.

As they reached the end of the staircase and walked through the threshold of the fourth floor, Dean pulled out his EMF meter and began scanning the area.

"You said they were waiting, right Sammy-boy? 'Cause I'm not catching-" Dean was cut off by the sudden ringing of the meter. "Oh. So maybe they are," he finished lamely.

Sam glanced around at their surroundings. He felt his stomach drop when he realized that they were in the exact same corridor he had seen in both visions: a narrow hallway with windows every few feet, moonlight reflecting through the glass and creating rectangular patterns on the floor. Dean was scanning with the EMF, also like in the vision, which meant that next...

The pain hit him, along with a huge influx of noise. He thought it had been loud before, but this...this was just too intense. He felt compelled to lean against the wall and steady himself, but then remembered that that was the act responsible for his envisioned swan-dive. Instead, he simply sat down in the center of the floor, rubbing his temple and trying to drown out the noise. They would appear soon, it was now evident.

Dean turned around to glance back at his brother, the comical look on his face that indicated the imminent wisecrack he had in store immediately wiped away upon seeing Sam on the floor. He rushed over to his younger sibling, placing a steadying hand on his shoulders.

"You okay, Sammy?" he tried and failed to hide the hint of desperation in his voice.

Sam looked up, his brown eyes watering from the pain. "I knew this was going to happen," he whispered. "This was what I was talking about, from my vision."

"Maybe we should go, Sam. I don't like this, they're hurting you! We don't know what they're going to do when they get here." Dean's eyes were wide, pleading.

"No," he said quietly.

"What?" said Dean.

"No," said Sam, this time more firmly.

"Why in hell not?"

"Because they already know I'm here. They drew me here, Dean. They need me to help."

"Help? HELP? I knew you wanted to counsel them or whatever, but that's just to get rid of them. You actually want to help these psychopaths?"

"Just Sarah," said Sam. "If Sarah moves on, all the other spirits will follow."

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "This is screwed up," he finally said.

Sam gave a slight laugh. "Yeah," he agreed.

"So we're just waiting now?"

"Yep."

"Far enough away from the window?" Dean asked.

Sam looked. The nearest window was large, but about six feet in front of him and a few feet to the side. "I hope so," he said.

Dean gave him an uncomfortable look, and then settled his tall body awkwardly on the floor besides Sam.

"They came a lot faster in my vision," said Sam with confusion.

"Yeah, well they also killed you in your vision. So I don't know about you, but any differences are okay with me," said Dean.

"I guess you're right," said Sam.

"I told you, big brothers are ALWAYS right. Get used to it, geek-boy," said Dean. It was a somewhat weak attempt at humor, but Sam was grateful for the attempt on Dean's part at brightening the situation. No matter what type of mortal peril the boys found themselves in, Dean always had a smartass comment or immature joke to crack.

After a few minutes, Sam felt he was becoming accustomed to the constant pain. It had dulled slightly, as had the noise. But he knew they were still out in the depths of the darkness, waiting for the right time. He glanced down the hallway, as he had been doing habitually every few seconds with the hope of seeing something emerge, and did a double-take upon sighting a black silhouette at the end of the corridor. With the sighting came more pain...but he drowned it out. The moment they had been waiting for had arrived.

"Dean," Sam whispered, nudging his daydreaming brother.

"What, dude?" replied the somewhat irritated older brother.

As a reply, Sam pointed a finger down the hallway, pointing at the approaching figure. It was now apparent that the spirit was a woman.

"Holy crap," said Dean.

The two boys scrambled to their feet, Dean fingering the pistol in his pocket and standing protectively in front of Sam. As the spirit entered one of the pools of moonlight, her features came into view. Old age had weathered her face, and her eyes held a somewhat maniacal look. She was dressed in period attire, a conservative, high-necked dress and hair piled into a tight bun. She flickered slightly as she cocked her head and glanced at the boys.

"You are here," she said in a chilling voice. "I have been waiting for you to come."

Dean laughed and gave a cocky grin. "Yeah, but you're a bit too old for my taste. And the whole 'being dead' thing could also be an obstacle."

Her body flickered again, reappearing closer to Dean. "Not for you," she said harshly. "For the special one." She held her hand out, slamming Dean against the wall with an invisible force and holding him there.

"Shit," he muttered. He couldn't do anything now, Sam was on his own. "You don't think I'm special?" he asked. "Ouch, that hurts."

"You are not a psychic," she stated plainly. "You cannot help."

Sam started upon hearing that she knew of his ability. "How did you know I was a psychic?" he questioned.

Sarah turned her focus from Dean, and flickered in front of Sam. "Members of the spirit world are connected," she explained. "You are part of the world of the departed, you are able to communicate and sense our presence. I have been sending out mental frequencies to attract interest to my house, to me. When you came close to the area I could detect your aura. I began to instill dreams into your head of visiting here, of what would happen if you did. You see, I need to be freed of here, of this prison."

"You've gotta be kidding me," murmured Dean from the corner.

Sarah ignored Dean's crack, now fully focused on Sam and waiting for his reaction.

"You mean...you're responsible for my visions? You sent them to me? Usually when I have them I have a connection to the people involved. I thought...with the name..."

"You are not my kin," replied Sarah, now appearing sad. "My only child died as an infant, and I could never have more. My husband...I lost everything. This house was my life. I was told that it needed to be built to house all who had perished from the advent of my husband's Winchester Rifle. I was lost, saddened, it was all I had left. I just didn't know what would happened, didn't know I'd be sentenced here for eternity after death. I found that I recently gained more power, more ability, it has been one hundred years since the earthquake. Spirits are able to increase their activity on certain anniversaries, not that this one held particular importance to me-"

"Wait," interrupted Dean from his position against the wall. "What do you mean this anniversary has no significance to you? You were pissed, right? You friggin' killed a construction worker! You were angry that they never re-built it!"

"Is that what you think?" said Sarah softly. "I had hundreds of workers. If I wanted it rebuilt, it would have been rebuilt."

Dean stared at her blankly, his mouth partially open. "Oh."

"So, who killed him?" asked Sam. I saw it happen, he was pushed..."

"Yes, the man was pushed. By one of my workers. As long as I am here they feel that they have to keep building. When a fellow worker entered their midst they wanted him to join them in construction. You see, I do think that this anniversary, though it means nothing to me, was highly important to them. It is like it was directly after the earthquake, as if that time and mindset was brought back to them and they felt that the working had to increase. The man died and his spirit now roams this house with the others, building."

"What about how I was pushed out of a window in my vision? There was a man, he knocked the gun out of Dean's hands..."

"Nothing of that nature has yet happened, although I do have fear," said Sarah, "which is why I made sure you saw the occurrence. Those killed by the rifle have not moved on, they are angry and do not wish that a gun of any kind enters these walls. They are the ones keeping me here, tying me to this place with guilt and responsibility for their demise. And as long as I'm here, the workers stay – forced to forever continue their incessant building."

"So what do you want us to do about it?" said Dean. Sam shot him a frustrated look in response to Dean's insensitivity.

"Well, what? I can't even MOVE."

Sarah lazily waved her hand, and Dean nearly stumbled as he was released. "I did not know if you would be a threat," she said. "You had to be restrained until I had conversed with the special one."

Dean rubbed his shoulder, having hit it hard upon being pinned to the wall. "You could've done it nicer."

Sam ignored Dean, still staring with wide eyes at Sarah. "So what do you want us to do? How can we help?"

Sarah glided to the window, staring into the darkness of the night. "I want to leave. Whenever I get close, whenever I try to exit through a window, I am stopped by one who was killed by the rifle. If they are distracted, then I can be free." Her words held hope, and though she was virtually transparent Sam could swear he saw her eyes glisten with tears. "And then everyone can leave this mansion."

"How do we distract them?" asked Dean. He was trying to be sensitive, really he was, but he still couldn't get used to actually talking with a spirit like they were a live, breathing person. It was strange; and made him wonder if all of the spirits they banished deserved that fate.  
They had emotions, no different from a human's.

"I know you have brought guns. Take them out, the both of you."

"Could we go down to the first floor for this?" said Dean with trepidation. "I mean, we're really high up...these guys have an affinity for windows-"

"No," cut off Sarah. "They are all here, working on this level. It must be here,"

"Isn't that dangerous?" said Sam. "I mean, they'll try to kill us."

"It will be fine if I move through the window before they have a chance to," she said, resigned. "It is the only way."

Sarah raised both arms and stood in front of the largest window, allowing it to slowly open. "Do it now," she said in a low, crackling voice.

Dean reluctantly pulled out the gun from his back pocket, as did Sam. "Stay behind me," he ordered, spreading his arms out to protect his brother.

"Dude, I've been on thousands of hunts," sighed Sam. "I'm FINE."

Dean moaned as he slowly lowered his arms, quietly muttering curse words under his breath.

Before either hunter had a chance to process the situation, they were faced with the hulking form of a man, a bloody wound open in his chest. Behind him stood others of similar appearance, although they seemed to be simply the followers.

"NO GUN SHALL BE BROUGHT HERE," he boomed. "YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR ACTIONS."

Sam's eyes widened in recognition. This was what he had seen in his vision. He looked over at Sarah, who was slowly approaching the window and attempting to avoid being sighted. He willed her to hurry, to go before the rest of his vision could be completed – but she was still advancing, appearing to take each step with difficulty...like an invisible barrier was impeding her advancement.

"Dean!" called Sam. He was trying to warn him, to prepare him...Dean spun around, looking for Sam, and was abruptly pushed into the wall by the force of the angered ghost.

"GodDAMN!" he yelled. "Second friggin' time today..."

"Dean..." said Sam again, though this time it was not a warning, but a _PLEADING_. He was steadily being pulled across the floor, towards the window closest to him...he couldn't let this happen...

"DEAN!

"SAMMY!" Dean struggled against his invisible restraints. "Sam! Try and stop moving!"

Although Sam was about to be plunged to his death, he couldn't hold back the look of incredulity that crossed his face. "What do you think I'm trying to do? I can't exactly control this, man!"

Dean cursed, then turned his attention to Sarah. "Go!" he barked. "Hurry! Sam...he's..."

"No," she muttered. Dean's outburst had sparked the attention of the angry spirits.

"YOU CANNOT ESCAPE!" shouted the man.

"You can't hold me here!" she shouted in desperation.

There was no answer, but Sam's speed across the floor increased. The young man grabbed the wall by the window, trying desperately to avoid his fate. It was futile. His fingers were uncurled by the force of the spirit, and his body was forced out into the night. In one desperate lunge, he grasped the sill of the window with both hands, now dangling from the ledge.

"SAMMY! Oh God, no, no, no..." Dean felt the tears running down his face. He couldn't see his brother – the darkness prevented him from catching the tips of the fingers grasping the sill. All he had seen was Sammy fall.

He hung his head, the tears falling openly and rapidly now. He couldn't believe the force of devastation that hit him. He forgot where he was, what was around him, all that ran through his head was _Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...gone, gone, gone..._

Never again would Sam crumple his over-sized body into the passenger side of the Impala, never again would he make fun of Dean for his choice of mullet rock, never again...

"Dean!" The voice was faint, but it was Sammy's.

"Sammy! Sam, oh man, you're alive!" Dean squinted his eyes, now making out the clenched fingers around the sill.

"Hold on!"

"Yeah, I plan to!" yelled Sam.

Dean cursed vehemently. He couldn't move. But Sarah...Sarah was now leaning out the window...grabbing Sammy's hand...that was all it took. She didn't pull, Sam just rematerialized next to the window, standing with a look of dazed confusion on his face. Sarah had vanished into the darkness...and the forms of all of the other spirits flickered out.

Dean was released from the wall. Sam walked over to his brother, about to inquire as to what happened, but Dean didn't stop to listen. He simply pulled Sam in for a tight hug, a long embrace – something that had been long overdue.

"I thought I lost you," he said, over and over. "Oh God, I thought I lost you."

"I'm here, Dean. "I'm still here."

**TBC**

* * *

**The epilogue will explain what happened, and hopefully there will also be more Veronica! Please read and review!**


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